


The Prints of Little Hands

by gardakuka



Series: Soulstorm [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Even if your soulmate doesn't exist yet, F/M, From Drama to Tooth rotting Fluff, I got the idea and my friend forced me to write it, Soulmate's name appears on your wrist when you're around 6-7 years old, Soulmates, Winterfell, that's the twist, troubles de la tête
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: Sandor got the name of his soulmate written on his wrist. Then everything went wrong.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Soulstorm [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625113
Comments: 92
Kudos: 384





	1. Sandor

**Author's Note:**

> Who will win?  
> A number of ongoings who were patiently waiting while I finished one of my fanfics  
> OR  
> One soulmate au boi
> 
> ALRIGHT THIS ONE WILL BE A SMALL ONE
> 
> I've just got an idea and, as I mentioned in the tags, my friend was like "WRITE. IT. NOW."  
> So here it is. It won't be a huge monster (4 chapters, I guess?), so I should finish it quite fast.
> 
> I hope the god of soulmate AUs will accept my scarifice.
> 
> The title is a translated name of one of my favourite songs.

His body was on fire. Sandor squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that in a total darkness which was surrounding him now the pain will fade away. It didn’t, of course. It would never go away. He was lying on his bed for days now, maybe even for weeks. He knew that his father and their maester were talking about something behind the closed door of his room. Sandor didn’t want to know what they’ve discussed there.

His face was damaged and hurt. It was only the left half of it which was destroyed forever, but it hurt so much Sandor though his whole body was on fire. He wanted to cry, but there was no strength in him for this simple action. He wanted to close his eyes and die. Like his mother, like his little sister. If he died, he would be able to see them again, and it was much better than lying down in his room and feel an absorbing pain. Aye, Sandor wanted to die.

His father came to his room and Sandor opened his eyes. He wasn’t able to speak, and he didn’t want to speak to his father at all. His father had chosen Gregor, trying to assure everyone that the horrible burn on his face was an accident. Sandor felt a salty taste in his throat and wanted to swallow it, but felt a bolt of pain in his throat.

“The maester said you will live,” his father’s voice was blank. Maybe he expected his monster of a son to die and never show his ugly face to the people in their Keep. Maybe he was afraid that Sandor will tell everyone what had happened to him. Maybe he was just incapable of any emotion after the death of his wife.

Sandor had no idea and wanted to die. It will be for the best.

  
  


***

  
  


The pain was so horrible Sandor felt tears in the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t just his face or throat now, his wrist hurt as well. Sandor didn’t have enough strength in his body to raise his hand and look at it, so he cried. Like a tiny pup who was kicked by his beloved master.

Sandor’s mother had worshipped the Seven and used to tell him different stories about the mighty gods before he would fall asleep in his bed. She told him that the gods knew what they were doing, but now Sandor realised they were as cruel as Gregor. Maybe even as huge as Gregor, they were some mythical creatures after all. Sandor decided he didn’t like these gods.

His father visited him again, clicking his tongue at the sight of Sandor’s tears. He didn’t like to his second son being so weak, Sandor knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“It hurts,” he whispered, and even his whisper was hoarse and low.

“You’re a man, you should ignore this pain,” his father snapped. “The maester said that the burns on your face aren’t as bad as they were before.”

“My wrist,” Sandor managed to grumble before he felt another bolt of pain coming through his arm.

Sandor’s father snorted and took his arm, eyeing it with a sheer indifference. Sandor clenched his remaining teeth, trying not to cry like a babe in front of his father. It _really_ hurt.

“ _Oh_ ,” his father suddenly said, and there was an emotion in his voice now. Sandor didn’t remember when was the last time his father’s voice wasn’t blank or listless. “You’ve got your _soulmate’s name_ there.”

He released Sandor’s arm, it fell on the bedsheets with a loud thump which caused another piercing pain in his whole body. His father spun on his heel and quickly left his bedroom, mumbling something under his breath. When he was gone, Sandor had finally cried.

  
  


***

  
  


“We’re going to Winterfell,” his father announced after he read a letter which was brought him by the maester. Sandor was already healed enough to attend the breakfast in the Keep’s hall, though the weakness and nausea became his constant companions.

“Winterfell?” he asked in a small voice. He knew there was an ancient castle with this name far away from their lands.

“Your soulmate is a Stark,” his father explained. “I’ve sent a raven to lord Rickard as soon as I saw the name on your wrist. He is waiting for our arrival, so we could decide what to do with your future.”

Sandor nodded, eyeing his porridge. Somehow he had lost all appetite after hearing the news. He didn’t want to go there, nor he wanted to meet a girl who was chosen by the gods to become his soulmate.

Girls liked pretty things and handsome knights, right? And Sandor was an ugly monster. When he saw his face in the mirror for the first time after the _accident_ , he screamed. Nobody heard his scream, his throat was still not functioning as it should, but Sandor was afraid of his reflection. He was ugly. He was damaged. He was a monster. He was awful. There was no way any girl would like him. And his soulmate would be despaired to become a wife of someone like Sandor. He didn’t want to make that poor girl suffer.

His father didn’t share Sandor’s fear. He said that Lord Rickard Stark had already learnt about Sandor’s burns but invited him to Winterfell anyway. He had to be a good lord, Sandor decided. But still, it was his daughter or niece who was his soulmate, not lord Rickard. He could be the most generous and kind man in the whole Westeros, but it wouldn’t change the attitude of Sandor’s soulmate towards him and his face.

At least they would travel without Gregor. That was the only good thing in the whole situation Sandor was dragged to.

***

The road to Winterfell was long and tiresome. His father decided they would travel in a small group, just him, Sandor, and five soldiers. They had horses and a small cart, and for the nights they tried to stay in the inns. Sandor did his best to hide from the people, ashamed of his looks. 

When they’ve stopped in the first inn, he wasn’t as cautious about his surroundings and let the daughters of the innkeeper to see his face. They shrieked and ran away, crying about the monster who was staying in their inn. Sandor didn’t say anything, he didn’t even tell his father about it. But when he finally was in the small room which was bought for him, he cried. Like a babe, like a weakling. For the first time since he finally managed to get out of his bed, Sandor wanted to die.

He was more cautious after that, avoiding people and covering his face. His travel cloak had a large cowl, and Sandor was really glad it was hiding his monstrous side from the others.

The road to Winterfell was endless, Sandor had no idea how many days and nights had passed since they left their small Keep. But every night before going to sleep he was looking at the name on his wrist and whispering his regrets and apologies to a girl he never met.

He had no idea how this _Sansa Stark_ looked like, but knew she had to be the prettiest girl in the whole world. And it was so unfair that her life now was connected to a monster called Sandor Clegane.

He begged her for mercy, but the darkness of the rooms where he spent those endless nights was silent.

***

Lord Rickard looked almost exactly as Sandor had pictured him. Like a true northerner. He was tall and had broad shoulders, his hair and beard were dark, and there was no dull emptiness in his eyes.

Sandor and his father were invited to the lord’s solar, and Rickard Stark dismissed his servants. His son stayed, though. Brandon Stark eyed Sandor with an interest, and he was the first person who didn’t express any disgust after seeing Sandor’s burns. Even his father had shuddered for a second after seeing the disfigured side of young Clegane’s face.

“There’s no Sansa Stark in our family,” he told to Sandor’s father after taking a proper look at Sandor’s wrist.

“Then why did you ask us to travel all way North?” lord Clegane snapped, a clear irritation filling his voice.

“I wanted to see your son,” Warden of the North explained. “He looks like a fine young lad, and I can see that with his build he will become a strong warrior.”

“Did you want to see us just to discuss the build of my son?” Sandor’s father snorted. “Or maybe you are trying to hide that Sansa from us after taking a proper look at his face?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Rickard Stark sighed, his eyes stopping on Sandor’s scars. “There’s no Sansa Stark in our family, but I have a plan for how we can make the thing with young Sandor’s mark work.”

Lord Clegane cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m listening.”

“He has a name on his wrist,” lord Stark pointed to Sandor’s arm. “And names on the wrists are quite rare ones. I have four children, but the Gods had sent a name only to my second son. Unfortunately, he is hiding it from us, so I cannot help him to find his destined person, but still.”

“And what does the story of your son has to do with Sandor?”

“The Gods have chosen a Stark to become his soulmate,” lord Rickard cast a glance at Sandor and a reassuring smile appeared on his lips. “We cannot take on their decision. If your son is destined to marry Sansa Stark, so it must be.”

“You’ve said there’s no Sansa Stark in your family,” Sandor’s father narrowed his eyes.

“That’s correct,” lord Stark nodded. “When I’ve received your letter, I spent some time thinking and discussing this issue with people I trust the most. We decided it will be the best for everyone to name young Sandor my ward and let him stay at Winterfell.”

Sandor held his breath. Somehow he was afraid of what Warden of the North could say the next.

“And?” his father frowned.

“We will train him to become a warrior,” Rickard Stark explained. “And we will teach him to become a proper lord of his keep. And when Brandon,” he waved his hand to his son’s direction. “When he will get married and have a daughter, we will name her Sansa. So then she could become your son’s soulmate and wife.”

It was even worse than Sandor had imagined. He thought he will scare a young girl with his ugly mug and eventually become betrothed to her. But what lord Stark was telling was awful. The girl whose name was written on his wrist wasn’t even born, but she was already destined to spend her miserable life in his company.

Sandor wanted to run away and hide somewhere, but the solar’s door was locked. And then lord Rickard and his father agreed on the rest of their terms and there was no way for Sandor to escape.

***

Living in Winterfell wasn’t as bad as Sandor expected. After all, there was no Gregor around, which meant it was the best place for someone like Sandor to live in.

Lord Rickard kept his word and Sandor’s training had begun a week after his arrival. He was trained by the local master-at-arms together with the lord’s youngest son, Benjen, and maester Walys was teaching him the basics of how to run the household. Even lord Rickard spent some time with Sandor, telling him about ruling the large keep. It was too much information for him, but Sandor was eager to learn all those new things. At least it was much better than hiding from his brother in the dark halls of their tiny keep.

The good thing was that lord Rickard’s children did their best to make Sandor feel himself welcome in Winterfell.

Benjen was a nice lad, just a couple of years older than Sandor. They’ve spent much time together even outside the courtyard. Lyanna was a nice girl too, a bit wild and unruly, but that was exactly what made her abandon all proprieties and spend some of her free time with a foreign boy. Both Benjen and Lyanna helped him to adapt in Winterfell much faster than Sandor could expect, and none of them made any comment about his ruined face.

Brandon was a good young man too, but he was much older than Sandor and his head was full of things he didn’t understand. He looked at Sandor as at another younger sibling, but at the same time, Sandor knew it was his future goodfather, which made their interactions a little bit awkward.

Brandon was betrothed to a Tully girl. They weren’t soulmates, and Brandon didn’t look interested in his future wife. One day he was telling Sandor about the beauty of his betrothed, hoping that their _future daughter_ will have looks of her mother, and the other day he was shagging a random wench from Wintertown. He told that it was normal behaviour for a man grown, but Sandor wasn’t on the same page with him.

He knew he would never betray his future wife. If she wasn’t able to have a _good-looking_ husband, at least she could have a faithful one.

There also was another lord Rickard’s son, Eddard. Sandor have met him for the first time during his second year in Winterfell when the young man arrived from the Eyrie. He looked almost exactly like his father and brother, but there was a significant difference between him and Brandon. Eddard Stark was quiet, even a little bit shy. He didn’t speak much, trying to choose the wisest words, and there was a leather wristband on his arm. 

He befriended Sandor, who already was way taller than Eddard, quite quickly. They sparred together during the times he was in Winterfell, and Eddard told him and Lyanna different stories about his time in Eyrie. He was living there with Jon Arryn and Lyanna’s betrothed, so she was eager to know more about him. The more she knew the less she wanted to marry the young Baratheon lord.

Sandor was eager to ask Eddard about his wristband. And his soulmate. And why he was hiding the name from everyone. But he stayed silent, quietly observing how Eddard was touching the rough material on his wrist from time to time. After all, no one apart from lord Rickard, Brandon, and Sandor himself knew about the name on his wrist. For everyone else, Sandor was just a mere ward sent to the lord of Winterfell by his father. It would be unfair to ask Eddard all those questions about soulmates and not share his secret, so Sandor was staying silent for many years.

***

Then everything was ruined in a blink of an eye.

Lord Rickard was killed. Brandon was killed as well. And Lyanna was abducted by Prince Rhaegar, whose father was behind the deaths of Warden of the North and his son.

Eddard had joined his friend in his rebellion, escaping to Winterfell and calling his banners. He was a new lord now and he didn’t need a ward like Sandor. But he insisted that Sandor should stay in Winterfell and help Benjen to defend it in case the enemy will attack it. Sandor was just twelve, but he was taller and way more muscular than Eddard or Robert Baratheon.

He agreed and stayed. Benjen wasn’t trained to be a lord at all, his head was full of dreams of joining the Night’s Watch, but there had to be a Stark in Winterfell, and that Stark had to be Eddard’s only remained brother. Sandor was appointed by the new lord to help the soldiers and keep an eye on any problems with the defence, but somehow he ended up helping Benjen to rule the great keep. Lord Rickard’s lessons had finally paid off.

Then they’ve received a raven that Eddard had married Brandon’s betrothed, lady Catelyn. After some time a raven carried news of the death of King Aerys. He was killed by his guard, what a misery of death it was. Sandor heard that everyone was judging young Jaime Lannister, but he wasn’t able to feel himself the same. After all, Aerys was the one who tortured and killed lord Rickard and Brandon, and in Sandor’s eyes, Jaime Lannister was a hero.

Some time passed, and Eddard arrived at Winterfell with a newborn babe in his arms. He said it was his bastard son, and Sandor wondered if he was a child of a young lord and his soulmate. The leather wristband was still on Eddard’s arm, and every time he was talking about little Jon, his hand was unintentionally raising to touch the wristband.

Eddard’s wife arrived at Winterfell as well. She was as beautiful as Brandon had described her, and she had a babe with her too. It was Eddard’s son and heir, and Eddard looked overjoyed when he took the moving bundle in his arms for the first time. His wife didn’t look happy, though. She didn’t like Jon’s presence in Winterfell, and she was wearing her dresses with long sleeves, that’s what Sandor had noticed during the first week of young lady’s being in her new home.

Just like her husband, she had a name on her wrist, and it had to be someone else’s name. It wasn’t Brandon’s name too, his wrist was clear from any letters, and Sandor felt a pity for this woman, who would never be reunited with her soulmate. The same as Eddard. The same as Sandor.

With the deaths of Rickard and Brandon, the deal between Sandor’s father and previous Warden of the North was dead as well. He even thought that the name could disappear from his wrist, but it was still there, gently covered similarly as Eddard’s one.

With the end of Robert’s rebellion and Eddard’s return, the life in Winterfell had finally bounced back. Benjen left his home to finally join the Night’s Watch, Brandon and Lyanna were dead, and Eddard was the only person who connected Sandor to the Stark family which fostered him far away from home. The young lord didn’t even question Sandor’s stay in his Keep, making sure he was getting the proper training. After all, the North had lost many of its sons during the war, and skilled warriors were needed here more than always.

***

And so Sandor stayed.

He got used to his life in Winterfell, being respected as a young and strong soldier by the members of the household. He was still close to Eddard and his family, even lady Catelyn thought of him highly. Young Robb and Jon didn’t have their opinion on Sandor yet, but they quite enjoyed when he was throwing away his seriousness and putting them on his shoulders. It was way higher than when Eddard did it for them, and the boys were giggling and cooing something in their language.

Strangely enough, Catelyn’s attitude towards Jon had softened at some point, she even started acting as a real mother to him. Sandor had no idea what had happened with the ice in her eyes which was always there during almost the whole first year of her life in Winterfell, but he decided to take it as it is.

Sandor stayed, and he liked being in Winterfell. It was a place where no one flinched away after seeing his face. It was a place where people were talking of him highly. It was a place where he felt himself as if he was at home.

He stayed, and at some point, he even stopped thinking about the name on his wrist. There was no reason of thinking about it anyway, and after some time the wristband on his arm had become just a mere piece of clothing.

***

Lady Catelyn asked him to help with Robb and Jon. She was expecting her second child and it was difficult for her to keep an eye on young boys. They’ve started to speak recently, and now enjoyed running back and forth long corridors. Sandor easily yanked Robb, who was trying to run away from his mother, seating him on his shoulder.

Jon, who was way calmer than his half-brother, tried to hide behind Catelyn’s skirts, but she took him on her arms and held to Sandor.

“Thank you,” she said after he took Jon as well. “Please, bring them to maester, he wanted to check why they’re coughing so much.”

Sandor nodded and looked at the young lady. She was tired, but somehow she was glowing at the same time. Sandor heard some wenches talking about the magical effects of being heavy with child and he wondered if Catelyn looked like that because of her future son or daughter.

She exhaled and raised her hand to put away hair locks which had fallen on her forehead. Her sleeve moved down and Sandor was able to notice a clumsy, but neat _Eddard Stark_ on her wrist.

What a strange discovery it was.

***

“I’m so glad that our Lady’s delivery went smoothly,” maester Luwin smiled and Sandor after they bumped into each other near the library.

Sandor knew that Eddard and Catelyn had finally met their second child. Of course he knew, the sound of the bells started driving him mad at some point. He was happy for Eddard, but his choice of honouring the birth was a little bit _too much_.

“Another playmate for Robb and Jon?” Sandor snorted.

“No,” maester shook his head. He had a warm smile on his face, and somehow this warmth had transmitted on Sandor too. “A strong, healthy girl. They’ve called her Sansa.”

There was a piercing pain in his wrist.

His body was on fire.

_Again_.


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: Joffrey and his siblings are Robert's children in this particular story.  
> Why are they still blond and have green eyes?  
> Well, sometimes genetics' tricks are way stronger than any seed :')

Sansa liked the stories about fair maidens and fearless knights she heard from her mother and septa. But she enjoyed her mother’s story about finding her soulmate way more than all those tales. The tales were made up by some people, and the story of her parents was real.

Some people were destined to each other because the Gods decided so. Sansa didn’t know were these the Old or the New ones, but she liked to think they somehow worked together, helping people find their true love. Her parents had two words on their wrists, and when Sansa finally learnt her letters she knew it was their names.

She wanted to have a soulmate too. Then her life would be almost like in a song. She will get a name on her wrist, meet her soulmate, and one day they will be joined in marriage. Like her parents, even if they didn’t know they were destined to each other on their wedding day.

But it was impossible. The Gods didn’t bless everyone with the names on their wrists. None of her uncles or aunts had the name of their soulmate. And her brother Robb had already turned eight, his wrist still empty. Robb wasn’t sad about it, he said that now he could marry any girl he wanted.

Her father had told her one day that if she won’t learn the name of her soulmate, he will make sure she will be married to the most brave and gentle man in the whole Westeros, and that was making Sansa happy.

After all, she already had a man on her mind who was matching her father’s description. It was Sansa’s biggest secret, but Gods, she wanted to marry Sandor so much.

  
  


***

  
  


Sandor was her friend. He also was a soldier and father’s friend, who was brought to Winterfell when he was a child. He was strong, serious, sometimes even a little bit grumpy, but he was her friend. Sansa was told that he was always taking care of her when she was a babe, helping her mother and septa. He watched Sansa when she was growing up, protecting her and even playing with her every time she wanted. He played with Robb and Jon too, but it was Sansa who made him smile and sometimes even laugh. Sansa was proud of it.

He had a terrible burn on his face, but Sansa didn’t care. He was a soldier, a warrior, and they always had to wear a physical confirmation of their bravery. Sansa didn’t know how Sandor obtained that burn, but she was sure it was something to do with a bloody fight. She had no idea what a _bloody fight_ was, she just heard this word from Robb and Jon so many times when they were playing.

Sansa saw that some people were afraid of Sandor’s face. She knew those people were stupid. Sandor was the best person in the whole world, and she knew she wanted to marry him when she will grow as tall and beautiful as her mother.

But that would mean she will never be reunited with her soulmate. If, of course, she will get one. She won’t have a life like in the songs, but at least she will have Sandor by her side. They will get married and move to their keep. He will be relieved from his duties at Winterfell and they could play together all days long. Then Sansa will give him strong children and they will live happily until they will die on the same day.

But Sandor had a wristband on his arm. Actually, he had two of them on both hands. When Sansa asked her father about Sandor and his soulmate, her father shook his head and said that Sandor didn’t have a destined person. He had those wristbands since Eddard Stark met him for the first time, and the subject of Sandor’s soulmate was never discussed among them. Sandor was her father’s good friend, almost like the King, and Sansa was sure he would tell her father if there was a person who was destined to him by the Gods.

But even knowing all of this Sansa still felt herself kind of uncomfortable. Somehow she knew that there was a name written on her wrist. She didn’t have any proof, she just _knew_ it.

  
  


***

  
  


On her fifth nameday, she asked Sandor if there was a name written on his wrist. He laughed softly and stroke her hair. He was always so kind with her and his caresses were soft and gentle, nobody would ever believe that a mighty warrior like Sandor was able to touch something or someone like this.

Of course, he was always gentle when dealing with all Stark children, but Sansa wanted to believe she was the special one.

“Don’t think about the soulmates too much, little bird,” he told her, squatting down and looking in her eyes. He smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. Sansa nodded, feeling a lump coming in her throat.

When she was finally lying in her bed, she cried. The sadness in Sandor’s eyes was haunting her, and her mind was putting off so many reasons for his sadness. What if his soulmate was dead? What if Sandor had a name of a girl from his keep and his father had learnt about it and separated two destined souls by sending Sandor so far from his home?

There were so many songs about soulmates finding each other and living happily, but there were even more songs about people who were destined to each other and not being able to be together. Sometimes things were even more complicated, like in the song about Princess Naerys. Sansa didn’t want to think that Sandor was wearing the wristband to hide the name of his destined person because the Gods were cruel and made him suffer, but she cried anyway.

She never asked him about his soulmate after her nameday.

  
  


***

  
  


Sansa was spending hours and hours sitting on the bench in the courtyard and looking at her wrist. Her seventh nameday was approaching, which meant there was even less time now for her to get the name of her soulmate. She prayed to the Seven and the Old Gods to grant her her soulmate, she was a nice and faithful girl. She knew that the Gods had to listen to her.

She was learning how to be a lady. She _had_ to be a perfect little lady, her septa was constantly repeating. She was tutored in all womanly arts, learning how to work with needles and fabric, so one day she could become a good wife for a man her father will pick for her. Sansa liked being called a lady, it was making her burst with pride.

Sansa got two more younger siblings, and from time to time her mother was asking her to help her look after children. Sansa wasn’t feeling well after the birth of Bran, but maester Luwin said there was nothing to be worried about. Sansa liked the maester, he was nice and kind to everyone in Winterfell, so she trusted him. Still, she would cast away her dolls and fine fabric when her mother needed help.

Robb and Jon were spending almost all their free time in the courtyard now. They also had their lessons with maester Luwin, but they were learning different things than Sansa. They’ve also started to spend more time with their father’s ward, Theon, and all their games were consisting of war, fights, and other manly things, where the presence of a fair maiden wasn’t needed at all. They weren’t playing with her as much as they used to, and that was making her sad.

At least she still had Sandor by her side. Her father wanted to appoint him a head of Winterfell’s guard at some point, but Sandor refused. Sansa’s father thought he was wasting his time being a mere soldier and a wet-nurse for his children. Sandor didn’t mind it, though.

He was sparring with Robb and Jon in the absence of their master-at-arms, teaching them different tricks. He even spent some time with Theon, who was ignored by most of the warriors in the keep. And he was always there when Sansa needed him, was it about helping her with little Arya or joining her in her strolls around the Godswood. Sometimes Arya and Bran were joining them, and even if Sansa loved her siblings she wasn’t very happy when Sandor paid more attention to them. He took them to his shoulders, so Arya was imagining she was flying a huge dragon and Bran was giggling, and Sansa was _jealous_. She had no idea what this jealousy was, but it was mentioned in so many songs, describing young maidens being sad when their knights paid attention to someone else, so yes, Sansa was jealous.

Sandor wasn’t a knight, he didn’t like the knights, but it didn’t matter for Sansa. He was still her hero, even after she learnt there was no way she could marry him when she will become older. She had overheard the lesson maester Luwin gave to her brothers about the way all those marriage unions between different houses worked. There was no way she will get a chance to marry Sandor, and she cried, as always. She cried for so long, her nose turned red and her eyes were puffy, but Sandor, who found her in the Godswood, had calmed her down and mentioned that even with her face red and marked with traces of tears she was still a beautiful young lady, so she didn’t need to cry so much.

He was so good to her, he was way better than any knight.

But there was no way their marriage could happen, so Sansa started to pray to the Gods to give her a soulmate. If she wasn’t able to spend the rest of her life with someone she wanted, it had to be someone chosen by the Gods.

***

Robb turned one and ten, and there was a little feast for him and all his friends. Of course, Sansa was there, sitting near him at the little table and feeling herself a proper lady. She and Arya were the only girls there, but Arya still was a little child, and Sansa had already celebrated her seventh nameday many moons ago. So she had to act like a proper lady and she liked it.

Robb announced that they were going outside to play at knights at the tourney. Sansa was told she has to be the Queen, so she just had to sit there on the bench and observe boys fighting with each other. Arya wanted to fight too and it took some efforts to calm her down and seat next to her. Jory and Sandor were dealing with their things nearby, so someone could keep an eye on children.

When the ‘tourney’ had ended and Robb was named the winner, he took a flower crown Sansa’ve just made, and crowned her, placing a quick peck on her cheek.

“And now our Queen will choose the mightiest warrior and give him a kiss!” he announced with a grin.

Sansa felt her cheeks setting on fire.

“Robb!” she hissed in embarrassment. She didn’t want to kiss any of those boys, she wanted to seat there like a lady and observe the tourney. But Robb just laughed and said that any mighty knight would be honoured to receive such a prize from their fair Queen, especially if they didn’t win the tourney.

“You can’t kiss me, I’m your brother,” he explained in the most serious tone.

Sansa gulped, looking around. She didn’t want to kiss any of those boys, and with Robb being out it meant she had to choose someone else. Jon was her half-brother, so he didn’t count too. Sansa looked around, panic starting to fill her body, and then she saw Sandor.

He was sitting on the bench on the opposite side of the courtyard, talking with Jory, and Sansa ran to his side as fast as she could, holding on to her flower crown.

“Oh, were you named the Queen of Love and Beauty?” Jory smiled at her. Sandor turned his head and look at her too, a tiny smile on his lips. He didn’t say a word, but Sansa knew he was proud of her. He always was proud of her, as if she was the most important person in his life.

Which wasn’t true, it had to be his soulmate.

But Sansa didn’t want to think about them now. She latched onto the sleeve on Sandor’s tunic and raised herself on tiptoes, placing a kiss on the ruined sound of his face. Sandor’s eyes had widened in surprise, and Jory laughed.

“Looks like you were just appointed the mightiest knight,” he chuckled, poking him in the ribs.

“Bugger off,” Sandor mumbled, averting his gaze. He was a grown man, but Sansa noticed there was a tiny trace of blush on his good cheekbone.

Sansa hummed to herself and rushed back to Robb and the rest of the kids, being proud of herself. She hoped that Sandor was honoured to be picked among the others by the Queen of Love and Beauty, even if it was just a dull game.

Her face was on fire.

***

It was her eighth nameday and she didn’t get a name on her wrist. Everyone who had a soulmate obtained the mark before their eighth nameday, it was known. Sansa woke up and checked her arm straight away, but there was nothing. She buried her face in the pillow and cried, making Arya shriek and call her parents.

“Don’t worry, Sansa,” her father took her on his laps and stroked her hair. Sansa knew that he had obtained her mother's name almost before his eighth nameday, so she was hoping until the very end she will get herself a soulmate too.

“I don’t want to be married then,” she sobbed, burying her face in his tunic. “I don’t want myself a husband I won’t even like.”

“Sansa, dear,” her mother seated herself on the edge of her bed next to her father, taking Sansa’s little hand in hers. “Not so many people get soulmates. Your brothers doesn’t have the mark too.”

Sansa knew it very well, but she cried anyway.

“I will find a good man for you,” her father promised. “Maybe he won’t be your soulmate, but he will be a good match for you. You’re such a beautiful and good little lady, any man will love you with all their heart.”

“I don’t want _any_ man,” she mumbled.

“Do you want to marry the prince?” he father offered, his voice sounding a little bit unsure. “Look, my friend has a son who is just a couple of years older than you. He is well-taught and has golden hair, and he doesn’t have a soulmate as well. We can arrange a betrothal between two of you, so one day you’ll be the Queen.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” her mother agreed, squeezing her little hand in hers. “You’ve always liked to play the role of the Queen, right?”

Of course she liked, but only if it meant that Sandor was there to act as her knight. The prince wasn’t Sandor, so the whole idea of becoming the Queen seemed meaningless for Sansa.

“I don’t want to be married,” she repeated stubbornly. 

“Alright, alright,” her father patted her back. “You’re still so young, Sansa, it’s just your eighth nameday. One day you will meet someone whom you will want to marry, trust me.”

Sansa had already met that person, but her parents shouldn’t know about him.

Her father pressed his lips to the crown of her hair and her mother helped her to wash her face and dress. There had to be a small feast in honour of her nameday, so there was no way that Eddard Stark’s daughter could spend it locked in her bedroom with puffy eyes and running nose from crying.

Sansa liked the feast. Her parents gifted her a wonderful gown, so she was sitting in the head of the table and looking like a real lady. All gowns she had before stood no comparison with the one she was wearing now. She received many other gifts too, and her brothers said they will be her knights for the whole day. Sansa was happy, but Sandor didn’t want to join them in their games, which made her sad.

He kind of distanced himself from their games after that kissing accident, spending more time with the soldiers and master-at-arms. Bran and Arya cried when he refused for the first time to play the dragon with them, and Sansa was sad too. But she didn’t cry, she was a little lady who knew that all adults had their adult things to deal with. But she missed Sandor and their games so much it hurt.

She spent the whole day playing with her siblings and her friends, running down the long halls of Winterfell and laughing a lot. She even forgot about the whole wrist thing, trying to focus on something which was bringing her joy. Robb, Jon and Theon fulfilled their wish and acted like the honourable knights all day long, and little Bran was trying to act like a squire. Arya said she wanted to be a knight too, and as it was Sansa’s nameday she graciously allowed her sister to play any role she wanted.

  
She enjoyed their games so much she even started to think about how it would be to become the _real_ Queen. It sounded like a fairytale, but her father said he could make it work, so Sansa decided to try and act as the most powerful lady in the whole Westeros.

Everything went well until the late afternoon, when Sansa and her siblings decided to play outside just for a little bit after having their dinner. They ran to the courtyard where some soldiers and kitchen girls were spending their free time in talks and laughs as they always did, and suddenly Sansa shuddered to a halt.

There was a kitchen girl who was acting _too friendly_ towards Sandor. She was trying to engage him in a conversation while sitting too close to him on the little bench, and Sansa didn’t like it at all. Sandor wasn’t impressed too, his lips twisted and his voice grumpy and resembling a growl, but Sansa wasn’t a dumb little lady.

  
Well, she _was_ a little lady, but she knew very well how all these encounters between adults could end. She knew so many songs when the knights were acting themselves like Sandor just to impress the fair maidens with their willpower, but in the end, they were confessing their love to those maidens and both of them were spending the whole night together. The songs said that the knights had worshipped the beauty of their fair maidens, which meant they had to spend the whole night talking, and Sansa didn’t want Sandor to spend this night chatting to the kitchen girl.

She wanted to go there and said to this girl that she, lady Sansa, was naming Sandor her knight and taking him away. But she knew that everyone will laugh at her naivety, even Sandor will laugh. He wasn’t a knight, and Sansa wasn’t born in the minor house. It would be too inappropriate to do so and Sansa felt hot tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” she announced, turning on her heels and running to the keep, trying to stop herself from crying before she reached her bedroom.

She didn’t care if someone would follow her or judge her for being a silly girl, she wanted to bury herself under the furs and cry. She _was_ a silly girl, who thought that any of her dreams can become a reality. She had face the reality now, and it hurt.

Of course, Sandor wouldn’t marry her. Not because she was too highborn for someone like him, but because he was an adult. He was separated from his soulmate, but it didn’t mean he will marry a pretty girl one day. Who won’t be as stupid as Sansa was. She had no idea who this girl will be, but she didn’t like her already.

Sansa sobbed and raised her head to look at her empty wrist. The was so good and prayed to the Gods every day, but they decided to ignore her pleas and give a soulmate to someone else. Sansa knew she had to respect the Gods, but she thought she didn’t like them. She was angry with them, but at the same time, Sansa knew it was entirely her fault.

She was the one who allowed herself to dream about stupid things for so long, not the Gods. She imagined herself getting the name of her soulmate and spending their lives together. She pictured herself in the wedding gown in the Godswood with Sandor by her side. She was the silliest girl in the whole Westeros and Gods didn’t have to do anything with it.

Sansa cried and cried, but her wrist was still empty and Sandor was spending his time with the kitchen girl. When she didn’t have any strength for tears anymore, Sansa climbed out of her bed and walked to the window. She looked outside, but it was already dark and everyone was gone from the courtyard. She knew that her parents or septa will come to check on her, but she didn’t want to see anyone. She wanted to disappear from this world.

Nobody will even notice the absence of one silly girl, right?

Sansa brushed her thumb over her wrist with a deep sigh. She wanted to see the name there so much, and she went to the big table in the corner of the room. There were the quill and the ink which maester Luwin used when he had his lessons with Sansa in her room, and Sansa just wanted to try to see how it will feel having a name written on her wrist.

She took the quill and traced out each letter painstakingly. Her hands were still shaking a little bit after she spent so much time crying and it was rather difficult to write something on her skin, but Sansa was the most assiduous girl in Winterfell. Maester Luwin had told her this on so many occasions.

When she was done, she put the quill away and climbed back on her bed. She was still wearing her beautiful gown, but she was too tired to take it off or go outside and ask her mother or septa to get someone to prepare a hot bath for her. She laid under the furs and took a proper look at her wrist.

Now it looked exactly how it should. Now she had Sandor’s name written in wobbly letters on her wrist and the sight of his name was making her happy.

Too bad it was just another stupid wish.

***

She woke up to the chambermaid’s fussings about the ink covering the bedsheets. Sansa rubbed her eyes with her fists and looked around. Well, the chambermaid was right, there was ink everywhere, even on her beautiful gown. Sansa sighed sadly, she liked the gown so much and now her parents will be disappointed with her too.

Sansa climbed down her bed and stretched herself, yawning. She was told that there will be a hot bath prepared for her soon, so she could wash the ink off her face and arms. Sansa looked at her arm which was almost fully covered in ink now. What a silly girl she was.

Sandor’s name was still there, the ink had to dry out and stay on her skin. Sansa sighed again and tried to scratch out the dried ink, so nobody will notice she wrote Sandor’s name on her wrist. She knew that everyone would laugh at her for doing so, therefore she gave her wrist a proper scratch. But the letters didn’t disappear.

Sansa blinked and moistened her index finger in her mouth, hoping that now the ink will go away. She brushed her finger over the letters, tried to scratch them out again and again.

_Sandor Clegane_ ’s name was still on her wrist. It wasn't written in ink, it just _was_ there. Just like she had wished before.

Sansa plopped down on her bed and cried.

She had no idea what to do now.


	3. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: Hey, I've blinked and suddenly there's bigger chapter number now, wth :o  
> A: Well...
> 
> (tbh, I just didn't want to RUSH the things, so I decided to split two last chapters into two more; and chapter 7 will be a bonus one with braime in it, ahah--)

When he saw Sansa wearing a delicate knitted wristband he wanted to grab her hand and tear it off, seeing his name there and erasing all stupid thoughts about her being _not his Sansa_. 

He didn’t. He just watched her, shuddering nervously when someone was coming too close to her left hand, and shyly touching it from time to time. She didn’t tell anyone about the name on her skin, nor she talked about it with her parents. But most importantly, she didn’t come to him.

Which meant he wasn’t her soulmate, despite of Sansa’s name written on his wrist. Maybe he was right and she wasn’t the _Sansa_ which was promised to him by the gods. Or maybe she was his Sansa, but there was someone else’s name given to her by all those invisible buggers, leaving Sandor to watch her from the distance and suffer.

Oh, gods really liked to make him suffer since he was a child, thank you very much.

She also started to estrange herself from him. It wasn’t a big surprise, after all, she was a little girl who was turning into a fine lady. She had her friends, her lessons, her embroidery, and her songs. All those things which were mandatory for any young lady. The scarred soldiers weren’t in this list, so Sandor had to get over that stupid sadness which he started to feel from time to time.

He was a soldier, a warrior, a grown-ass man. He couldn’t be _sad_ over something like that, even if it was connected to the whole soulmate thing. But every time he met Sansa in the long halls of Winterfell she would avert her eyes and walk past him, giving him just a short nod of acknowledgement, the proper little lady she was, and Sandor’s chest hurt.

His covered wrist hurt too. But Sandor learnt how to ignore that little burning pain.

  
  


***

  
  


“There’s no Sansa Stark in our family,” lord Rickon told Sandor’s father after taking a proper look at Sandor’s wrist.

“Then why did you ask us to travel all way North?” lord Clegane snapped, a clear irritation filling his voice.

“I wanted to see your son,” Warden of the North explained. “I was thinking that we might fulfil the wish of the Gods through marriage, but I see that he doesn’t belong here. He’s a weakling, after all.”

“I’ve always known it,” Sandor’s father snorted, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of lord Stark’s solar. “You’ve brought me to shame again, boy. I should ask your brother to train you on how to be a normal member of our family.”

Sandor opened his mouth to scream, but there was no sound coming out of his throat. It still didn’t heal properly after the _accident_ , so he tried to get out of his father’s strong grip, to run away, he didn’t want to see his father anymore, he didn’t want to be in Winterfell, he didn’t want to see Sansa.

Sandor inhaled sharply and opened his eyes. He hated such dreams with all his heart. They were reminding him about the life _before_ lord Stark decided to name him his ward and allowed to stay in Winterfell. They were making him think about his _real_ family. About his father, who didn’t give a shit about his son after his wife had passed away, giving birth to their last child. About his _brother_ , who had turned a monster because his family wasn’t able to help him with his pain.

He found his weird peace serving the Lannisters, but Sandor knew they didn’t care about Gregor as a person. He was a mighty monster who would obey any order from them. Sandor knew it was Gregor who killed and raped Rhaegar Targaryen's defenceless wife, but the only punishment he got for it was the fact that he would never be able to marry any woman himself.

After all, the members of Kingsguard weren’t allowed to lie with women.

Sandor closed his eyes, but the sleep didn’t come. He sighed and got out of his bed. He was a soldier, but he was staying in a proper bedroom, the same lord Rickard arranged for him all those years ago. And it was quite close to the chambers of Stark children, so when they needed any help he was always ready to come to their aid. Even if it meant that he had to wake up at the hour of the wolf because little Bran had a nightmare and wanted Sandor, as the strongest man in Winterfell, to deal with the spirit of the Other who was hiding somewhere in a huge wardrobe.

During his years in Winterfell, Sandor got used to the tiny knocks on his door at any time of the day, but for moons, there was one person less who would come to him and ask for his help. Or ask for his advice. Or simply chirp the stories Sandor knew so well, but wasn’t tired to listen over and over again.

Sandor put on his tunic and breeches and walked outside of his chamber. He needed some fresh air, and the empty courtyard looked exactly like a place where he would be able to find at least some peace.

  
  


***

  
  


The nightmares started to follow him way more often than before, but at least Sandor learnt how to deal with them. He would sneak out of the keep quietly, making sure that no one woke up because of his heavy steps on the wooden creaking floor, and go to the courtyard. Sometimes he was making his way to the stables, where he had a new colt, young and vicious, just like his master. Sandor bought him at the market in White Harbor, where he went together with Eddard. The merchant claimed that the colt was brought to North from Sandor’s native Westerlands, but it wasn’t the reason he decided to get himself a new horse. It had to be the colt’s temper, for sure.

At least Arya and Bran were astonished by Sandor’s new purchase. They would always come to see how Sandor tried to tame the unruly animal, sometimes they were joined by Robb, Jon and Theon. Even Eddard once came to take a proper look at the colt with his babe son in his arms, but Stranger - that was the name Sandor came up after his colt had tried to bit off Jory’s fingers, - neighed loudly and decided that in the presence of the lord of Winterfell he had his all rights to ignore Sandor’s words.

He was spending his sleepless nights in the courtyard or with Stranger, but the nightmares wouldn’t leave. They would come and remind him that he, Sandor Clegane, didn’t deserve the life he had now. It was a mistake they were telling him, showing the images of Sansa having some lordling’s name on her wrist. Sandor tried to ignore all those images, they were just a part of his stupid imagination.

But the fact that he obtained this life by mistake wasn’t. It was a reality, a harsh and uncomfortable, but it just _was_ there. Everything that had happened before was a mere coincidence, a game of situations where he ended up being miserable anyway. He could become as miserable as he was now without getting a name on his wrist.

The name on his wrist was making things more difficult.

Sandor knew that not all people with those marks on their wrist had their happy respective lives together. Sometimes only one of them would get a name, and the other person had to spend their life thinking they were all alone in this world. Sometimes people had more than one claimant for their heart. Sometimes the shit those gods dragged people in was even worse than that.

Living in Winterfell, where feasts were always accompanied by music and songs, Sandor has learned _too many_ dumb songs about soulmates and how unhappy their lives could become. There also was a well-known story of the Targaryen siblings, which also provided the basis for a handful of those songs. Princes Aemon and Aegon broth had the name of their sister Naerys on their arms. She had the name of Aemon on her wrist, but had to marry the oldest brother instead. When he was younger, Sandor thought that the songs were exaggerating the amount of tears the young princess cried out, and the dull sadness her brother Aemon felt after she was betrothed.

Now he knew that those dumb songs didn’t lie.

He would prefer to fight the whole Ironborn fleet or even meet his brother in a deadly combat than seeing Sansa getting married to someone else, even if she would be wed to a person whose name was written on her wrist.

He wanted to talk to Sansa, to tell her about the mark on his wrist, to ask her whose name she was hiding under the long sleeves and the delicate wristband. Maybe it was _him_ who was exaggerating everything and there was nothing to be afraid of, but he couldn’t push himself to do so.

He _was_ afraid his childhood dream will ruin faster than Sansa would avert her gaze in after seeing her name on his huge, scarred hand. As she was always averting it now.

  
  


***

  
  


Stranger neighed and tried to bite him, again. Sandor sighed and took out an apple from the pocket, offering it to his young stallion. Of course he had to act like a stupid bugger, trying to taste it together with Sandor’s fingers and not with his lips like any well-behaved horse.

“You’re a dumb horse, aren’t you?” Sandor grumbled, watching his stallion crunching the apple with a total disgust in his eyes.

“That’s not the way to talk to your horse.”

Sandor quickly turned around. Too quickly to his liking, but he wasn’t able to do anything about the way he behaved next to Sansa.

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead of a greeting, trying to act as indifferent as it was possible. His throat became dry, though, and he had to hide his hands behind his back. Just in case.

Sansa bit her lip, not looking him in the eyes. As she always did nowadays, as if she didn’t want to stand next to him. Or didn’t want his presence in Winterfell at all. Or…

“Father asked to look for you,” she chirped, dragging Sandor out of his thoughts. “I was strolling outside after having my lessons with maester Luwin, so father saw I am free and asked to fetch you.”

She was chirping as she always did before, as if there was no that dull awkwardness between them since that day after she turned eight. She was almost facing her twelfth nameday now and slowly turning into a real young lady, taller than all of her siblings and way prettier than her lady mother. And Catelyn was one of the most beautiful women Sandor ever met in his life.

Sandor shrugged and turned to check if Stranger was tied up properly before muttering his thanks and heading to the courtyard where Eddard was usually spending his free time with his children.

“Sandor,” lord Stark waved his hand, quickly giving Bran some guidance regarding his sword skills, before he walked in the direction of Sandor and pointed to the bench.

Sandor nodded, sitting down and looking at lord of Winterfell not without an interest.

“I’ve received a letter from King’s Landing,” Eddard said. “There will be a great tourney held in four moons to celebrate his heir’s birthday.”

“That’s a waste of time and money,” Sandor shrugged. “He isn’t even coming out of age to have a tourney in his name.”

“I don’t think that the money issue could stop Robert from anything he decided to do,” Eddard snorted. “But anyway. I, as Warden of the North and his friend, was invited. With the rest of my family, which means that only Rickon will stay here, as he is still too young for such a long travel. Theon and Jory will be here as well, and maester Luwin will take care of him. There will be a Stark in Winterfell, so there’s nothing for us to worry about.”

“And you wanted me to keep an eye on him?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow.

“I wanted to ask if you will be joining us,” Eddard shook his head. “You’re like a brother to me, Sandor, and we won’t be travelling in a huge party, so having at least two decent warriors will double our chances for a safe journey.”

“I’m sure you meant yourself as the second one,” Sandor snorted.

“Well, not without it,” Eddard smirked, but the expression on his face had changed to the serious once again. “So, what do you think about it? Going with us South. If you are comfortable with it, of course.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Sandor shrugged. 

“Because of your brother.”

_Oh_. The thought of meeting Gregor in King’s Landing made Sandor’s stomach whirl in fear, the unwanted memories filling his head. They also were full of said fear, but he shook his head almost like a dog and took a deep breath.

“Bugger him,” he answered to Eddard. “I don’t want to lose my chance of seeing the capital because of him.”

“As you wish,” Eddard smiled. “We will be travelling from White Harbor, the whole way should take us around a fortnight, so we still have some time for all the preparations.”

"Right,” Sandor nodded, standing up. “I’m off to deal with my dumb horse.”

“That’s not the way to talk to your horse,” Eddard laughed, reminding Sandor of Sansa’s words.

All of a sudden, he wanted to ask his friend if she knew anything about Sansa’s destined person. Or to finally reveal his secret and show him the name of his daughter written on his wrist. But he was a coward. Who knew how Warden of the North would take the news of his friend, almost a brother, being a soulmate for his sweet child?

Sandor shook his head again. Why in the seven hells it had to be so complicated?

“Besides,” he said instead, not facing Eddard. “If by any chance we will meet Gregor in King’s Landing, at least I would be able to tell him that I have _two_ brothers now. And he isn’t even included in that number.”

***

Stranger turned out to be the most well-behaved horse in the whole Westeros. He wasn’t biting Sandor’s fingers anymore and was doing everything his master asked him of. He was still acting as the most deadliest warhorse with the rest of the household, but his behaviour towards Sandor had changed drastically.

It was a mystery for Sandor how on earth that dumb and bloodlust animal was able to get tamed so quickly, he hoped it wasn’t just a plan of his horse to gain his trust and then bite off all ten fingers from his hands. And maybe even toes.

It was a mystery until the day when Sandor returned to the stables after a training with Bran to find Sansa cooing over his horse. She was feeding him apples and cooing at the beast, and he _allowed_ her to touch him and even caress his mane, while snorting almost happily.

Sandor was just standing there and watching them quietly, hoping he won’t break the strange magic of that moment.

His wrist was on fire and Sandor knew he was in deep shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow such plot much drama


	4. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added new characters and relationships to this fanfic, so we have a full house now.
> 
> King's Landing! Yaay?..

King’s Landing was such a magnificent place! Sansa enjoyed being in the capital way more than travelling by sea. She had to spent almost two full days bedridden and seasick until she got used to the rocky movements of the ship. Well, at least she was way luckier than Arya, who didn’t enjoy the whole trip due to the same reason. Their father sighed and said that maybe they will have to travel home by road.

But the capital was amazing. They were greeted at the harbour by the King himself, was glad to see his old friend and his family. And they were given huge chambers not so far from the Royal quarters. Sansa had the whole room for her own and squeaked in a sheer delight after she fell on the softest featherbed she ever saw. 

Her parents stayed in the room in front of her, Robb, Jon and Bran shared a chamber at the end of the hall, and Arya was given a tiny, but nice place right next to her room. Sandor was also assigned a room near them, even if he wasn’t a member of their family. Probably it was done by her father’s request to the King, but she was glad nevertheless. 

Maybe she wasn’t as close to Sandor as she was before due to the whole mess with the name of her wrist, she still was happy that he came South together with her family.

The feasts in the Red Keep were amazing too. She heard her father muttering something about King Robert’s inability to manage the treasury, and her father was right, but Sansa enjoyed the feasts anyway. There were dozens of meals served each evening for a simple dinner, and Sansa was even a little bit afraid to imagine what kind of feast will be held to celebrate the end of the tourney.

Oh, and the tourney was another reason she was so excited. Her father and brothers had attended some small ones before, but they never took Sansa or Arya with them. And Sansa knew that any proper lady _had_ to attend those tourneys. She heard the stories her brothers told after they would come back to Winterfell and prayed to go to any of them as soon as it was possible. And now the first tourney she would ever attend will be the _Royal_ one, held by the King himself.

Her father told them that the main reason for this tourney was to celebrate the nameday of prince Joffrey. Sansa had met him, he was a handsome young man, so gallant and so dutiful, but that was it. Sansa’s parents reminded her about the old idea of her father to arrange a match between them, if, of course, she would be interested in it. When they spoke about it in her parent’s cabin on the ship, she felt a hot sting on her covered wrist.

“I don’t know,” she said, hoping that her voice wasn’t shaking. Of course, her parents knew she had the name of her soulmate, but they never learnt _whose_ name was written there. Unlike Arya, Sansa was a polite and well-behaved daughter, but sometimes she was able to act stubbornly. She refused to tell her parents about her soulmate, and eventually, they stopped their attempts to find the truth.

But her father asked her to spend some time with the prince and get to know him. Just in case. Sansa agreed with a sigh, but even if she had a more or less pleasing time while strolling around the Red Keep with prince Joffrey, she didn’t feel _anything_ towards him.

Joffrey was a nice young man, but she wasn’t feeling herself confident with him. He was talking about nice things, complimenting her looks, showing her around the castle, but as a person he was simply _boring_. 

But at least her wrist wasn’t reacting at his presence, as if realising he was not a match for her _soulmate_.

  
  


***

  
  


Her father told them that the main reason for this tourney was to celebrate the nameday of prince Joffrey, but Sansa heard a handful of whispers from the Keep’s servants about the fact their King went mad.

“He wants to honour the bloody Kingslayer and his wife,” they were gossiping, not even checking if someone was around. As if they didn’t care for Ser Jaime Lannister at all.

Sansa knew that the Queen’s brother wasn’t the most welcomed person within the nobility because of the crime he committed. Even her father was not impressed with Ser Jaime, but he had mentioned that he still respected him as the warrior.

“You need to _like_ him very much,” Sandor snorted when her parents were talking about the Royal household during their trip. “Maybe he’s the Kingslayer, but it was a shit of a king he killed.”

“And broke his oath,” her father frowned at Sandor’s words.

“And in some way avenged Brandon and Lord Rickard.”

Her father didn’t reply anything, but later on, Sansa saw him trying to be way friendlier to Ser Jaime than any other guest of the Keep. And towards his young wife too. She wasn’t a _lady_ in a usual way, Sansa even spotted her sparring at the training yard with her husband one morning, but she had a very sweet personality. Ser Jaime and his wife were wearing matching wristbands on their arms, and when she saw them for the first time Sansa felt a warmness in her chest.

She wanted to be able to have matching wristbands with _her soulmate_ , but that wasn’t possible.

  
  


***

  
  


Sandor announced he was going to participate in the tourney.

“It’s just too boring here,” he shrugged, completely ignoring the worrying expression on her father’s face. Sansa chewed her lip, trying not to think that there was a chance Sandor will have to ride against his brother.

She saw Gregor Clegane once. He was towering above the other members of the Kingsguard, his armour polished so well Sansa’s eye started to hurt at some point. He was wearing a white cloak, which had to represent his fair intentions, and Sansa had no idea how the murder of the Dornish princess or the horrible scars on Sandor’s face was able to pass for the fair intentions.

“Do you want to enter, Sandor?” her mother voiced Sansa’s and her father’s fear.

“Why not,” he shrugged again and put his palm on the hilt of his sword. “I’m not a lord to sit there and watch the _brave knights_ trying their best to not fall from their horses. Who have way more bravery than their masters.”

Sansa was sure she heard Robb and Jon chuckle at that remark.

“As you wish,” her father sighed. “Guess, I can’t stop you from entering anyway.”

“Besides, I don’t think that a good money pouch can hurt Winterfell,” Sandor snorted. “We could _definitely_ use it way better than any of those _knights_.”

It was a good thing he grew up in the North, Sansa thought. Sandor’s life would be so difficult here with the whole hatred for the knighthood he possessed because of his brother.

  
  


***

  
  


Sansa was seated next to her father, little Arya by her side. She always knew that any tourney would be an amazing event, but she had no idea how wonderful it will be in reality. The knights were gallant, the crowd was loud, and it was really exciting to watch the way the participants were fighting and unhorsing each other.

Alright, she didn’t like the melee, it wasn’t as beautiful as she imagined from the songs, but when it was over and the King announced it was time for single jousts, Sansa’s spirit lifted straight away.

“Will you be rooting for Sandor?” she asked Arya, but her little sister shrugged.

“Well, I’ll support him, of course, but I kind of want Kingslayer’s wife to win,” she explained. “I mean, that’s so amazing - she’s a married woman and a lady, but she takes part in the tourney. I wish I was like her!”

Sansa chuckled and squeezed Arya’s hand. She knew that her sister wanted to be able to wield a sword like brothers and father, but their mother told it was not the best thing for a young lady to learn. Maybe, after seeing lady Brienne, she would be able to change her mind. That was what Arya was hoping for.

She watched the first participants, thinking about Sandor. The tourney was split into two days, and today he had to ride against several knights to see if he will participate in the events of the next day. Sansa spent a good part of last night praying to the Old and New Gods for not making Sandor to ride against his brother, and the Gods listened to her.

His first opponents were knights from the small houses, and it didn’t take him much effort to unhorse them quickly. He struggled with Renly Baratheon, who was quite a good match for a warrior like Sandor, but defeated him anyway. And Ser Jaime, who was his last opponent for the day, was a very skilled soldier with a rich experience of participating in all sort of tourneys.

Their joust ended up with Sandor’s win and Sansa clapped so hard her hands started to hurt.

“You had to give him a favour, you know,” Arya snorted, watching her.

“That won’t be proper,” Sansa retorted, feeling her cheeks heating up. “And he is almost a member of our family, you know.”

“Robb told me about your crush on Sandor when you were a child,” Arya whispered with a mischievous smile. “See, having him as a member of your family didn’t stop you from falling for him.”

“Shut up,” Sansa hissed, turning away from her sister. She hoped her parents didn’t hear their conversation and, more importantly, didn’t notice the blush on her cheeks.

There was an announcement about the four competitors who made it to the next round. Apart from Sandor, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Loras Tyrell were able to win over their opponents and increased their chances of getting to the final stage of the tourney. The last participant was Ser Gregor Clegane, and Sansa felt a knot in her stomach, which made her sick immediately.

She saw how Sandor’s brother by blood fought today. He didn’t care about his opponents at all, at some points Sansa was afraid he will kill them, but, fortunately, the poor knights were spared from that fate. He didn’t even care about fighting lady Brienne and was about to hit her in her stomach full-force, but noticed a movement from the Royal stand, where Ser Jaime, who joined his family after his defeat, was about to interfere and fight the man they called the Mountain himself.

Sansa knew nothing would stop him if it was his brother instead of lady Brienne. 

  
  


***

  
  


There was a feast held to celebrate the first day of the tourney, but Sansa wasn’t able to feel the joy of it. The decorations were breathtaking, the food was beyond Sansa’s expectations, and the singers were performing her most favourite songs, but Sansa didn’t care. She didn’t even notice she was seated next to the prince until Arya poked her in the ribs.

“Don’t look like a dead trout and eat,” she whispered at Sansa’s confusion. “Mother is already worried about your well-being.”

“Why?” Sansa asked in a weak voice.

“They managed to seat you with _the prince_ himself,” her sister rolled her eyes. “But you still look like you are dying from the horrible disease.”

Sansa never asked anyone to place her next to the prince. He was the last person she wanted to be seated with. Well, apart from Gregor Clegane, but still. Maybe he was a handsome and gallant young man, but after some days in the Red Keep Sansa leapt to the conclusion she didn’t like him at all.

Everything about Joffrey was so _fake,_ it was a mystery no one else around noticed it.

Sansa sighed and tried to eat at least something, but after three of four bites moved her plate aside.

“I think I’m tired,” she mumbled, getting on her feet. “I’ll go back to the Keep.”

Her father was about to call Robb or Jon to assist her, but the King, whose face was already red from the wine he drunk, loudly announced that it would be much better if his son assisted the beautiful daughter of his old friend. Sansa had no idea how her father ended up being friends with Robert Baratheon. 

"It will be my pleasure," Joffrey stretched his lips in a smile and offered his hand. Sansa wanted to refuse, but her parents were watching her, as was the good half of the Royal family. So she has to take his hand despite her feelings and desires.

They walked together in a total silence and Sansa's head was full of Sandor. She didn't want him to get hurt. She didn't want him to face his brother. She didn't want the morning to come. Soulmate or not, Sandor was one of the dearest people for her, and Sansa was afraid something could happen to him. 

"You have a nice wristband there, my lady," prince Joffrey dragged her out of her thoughts. 

"T-thank you," she mumbled, hiding her hand behind her back. 

"My father told me he was planning to make a match between us," Joffrey continued, not paying any attention to her words. "But, apparently the fair maiden I was told about has someone else in her life." 

"She doesn't," Sansa replied, feeling tears gathering in the corners if her eyes. Something in Joffrey's tone made her chest hurt. "But I don't think my wristband or anything it hides should spoil the mood of this night." 

Joffrey snorted, shrugging. They took a cart to the Red Keep and Sansa stayed silent through the whole ride. She didn't want to talk to Joffrey at all. Something had changed in his behaviour, Sansa wondered was it because of the wine he drunk. 

She wasn't able to touch any of it during the feast. 

“Let me see you to your chambers,” Joffrey said when they finally arrived. Sansa shrugged but agreed, she knew that the prince wasn’t trained enough to _protect_ her if was needed, but the best way to answer to his polite offer was an acceptance.

It wasn’t as lively in the Keep now as it was at the feast, but some servants were running back and forth, presumably to the kitchen. They met some soldiers and guards on their way, all of them greeted the prince and a young lady by his side with sincere respect. It would be nice to live like this, Sansa thought. Being betrothed and eventually married to the prince, becoming the Queen one day.

It would be nice, but it wasn’t what she wanted.

“Oh,” Joffrey suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes and looking at the opposite side of the training yard. “A _dog fight_ , how interesting. Should we go and watch, my lady?”

Sansa had no idea why Joffrey was suddenly interested in them going and spending their time watching soma animals scowling at each other over their issues, but Joffrey squeezed her wrist - her _left_ wrist, - and dragged her in the direction he was looking at before.

Sansa tried to catch her breath and not fall, but Joffrey suddenly stopped. She was finally able to exhale, before raising her head and…

“Sandor!” she gasped, clutching at her chest, the rage started to burn in her chest. How dare Joffrey refer to _Sandor_ as if he was a dog?

Sandor turned around at her gasp, his face scowled in disgust, but there was a fear in his eyes. Fear for her, she realised, looking at the man who was standing some feet away from Sandor.

“And _this_ little bitch is your family now, huh?” _Ser_ Gregor Clegane laughed, eyeing Sansa from head to foot. His eyes were cold and blank, and Sansa flinched at his stare. 

“Don’t you even dare talk to her like that,” Sandor growled, his hand moving to the pommel of his sword.

Maybe not as fast as he wanted. At least Sansa was able to run to his side and cover his fingers with her little palm.

“Sandor, please,” she said with a trembling voice. She knew it would be a fatal mistake for him to go against his brother now. She saw the way Gregor Clegane eyed his opponents during the tourney, he didn’t care about them at all, even if one of his blows would be a deadly one. But now, standing in front of his _brother_ , there were way more hatred and indifference in his stare.

“Let me deal with him, _please_ ,” Sandor tried to calm her down and shake himself free from her hand, but Sansa squeezed his wrist. She looked at him with an unspoken plea in her eyes, realising that it was the first time for _years_ since she was standing so close to him, touching him, feeling his hot skin.

Sansa gulped and averted her gaze, turning her head to face Joffrey. He was standing at the same spot, his hands crossed on his chest, his eyes full of a sheer interest. He _enjoyed_ the scene in front of him, and that was _disgusting_.

“I see that Starks trained you well,” Gregor Clegane snorted, observing the way Sansa’s fingers were clutched onto Sandor’s hand. “Took a pup and turned him into a lapdog. What a waste of material.”

“Shut up,” Sandor growled again, but didn’t move. Sansa felt his skin becoming even hotter.

“Besides,” Gregor Clegane was now openly mocking his brother. “You would never become a _decent_ warrior anyway. You always were too weak, like a proper coward, and your face wouldn’t help you to get a proper position in any army - looks like becoming a lapdog was your only choice.”

“Don’t talk to him like this!” Sansa heard herself to spat at the tallest and strongest man she ever met. As soon as she said these words, she felt her stomach drop.

“Sansa,” Sandor whispered her name through clenched teeth.

“What a nice life you have at the North, little brother,” Gregor Clegane burst into laughter. “Did you become _so weak_ that a _woman_ needs to stick up for you? What a pathetic little wanker.”

“Sandor’s not _weak_ ,” Sansa grumbled, feeling the tears coming back to her eyes. “He’s not weak, he’s the strongest warrior in the whole Westeros. And he is way more honourable than you or any other knight. And he is my _soulmate_!”

She had no idea why she even said the last sentence, maybe because she wanted to piss Gregor Clegane off even more. But she said it, and Sandor’s hand tensed straight away after hearing her words.

“Oh really?” Gregor’s expression turned into a puzzled one, but it took him less than a second to put on his usual mocking grin. “So _that’s_ the reason my brother was sent away and turned into a weak coward. A pretty little cunt from the North - it’s way more what the disfigured dog like you could get. I bet you don’t deserve that gift.”

  
“How _dare_ you talking about Sansa like that,” Sandor hissed, drawing out his sword. There was a real hatred in his voice now, and he gently pushed Sansa’s shoulder, so she was hidden from Gregor behind his broad back.

He didn’t care about all awful things Gregor had told him. He cared for _her_ , Sansa realised, a sheer fear filling her body and soul. Gregor Clegane snorted and drew out his sword too, ready for a fight. It was awful, and Sansa wasn’t able to do anything to prevent it. She couldn’t even ask Joffrey for help, he was too infatuated with the upcoming fight.

Sansa squeezed her eyes, and pressed her face to Sandor’s back, latching on to his cloak.

  
She was so scared for _him_.

Her wrist hurt.

“ _Stop it_ , for the sake of the Seven!”

Sansa felt Sandor lowering his right hand down and opened her eyes. Ser Barristan Selmy marched to their direction, his brows furrowed. Gregor Clegane growled in disappointment, but lowered his sword too. As a member of the Kingsguard, he had to obey his Commander’s orders.

Barristan Selmy stopped in front of them, eyeing everyone warily. He looked at Sansa, who was still squeezing Sandor’s cloak in her fists, a tiny and reassuring shadow of a smile appearing on his lips. He looked at Joffrey then, the expression on his face changing to the puzzled one.

“What in the Seven Hells is happening here?” he asked everyone, but his eyes were glued to Gregor Clegane’s huge figure.

“Some _misunderstandings_ ,” Sandor snapped, putting his sword back in the sheath.

Ser Barristan looked at him, then moved his eyes down, where Sansa’s hands were latching on to him, and nodded.

“Please, walk this young lady back to her chambers and see to her safety,” he told Sandor. “Meanwhile, I will have a conversation with _Ser_ Gregor.”

Sansa exhaled in relief, not even realising properly she was holding her breath for a while. She let Sandor’s cloak go, and he turned around, facing her and offering his hand. Sansa took it gladly, thinking that even if Sandor despised all the knights, there still were some of them, like Ser Barristan, who could still earn his respect.

***

“You didn’t have to lie to Gregor to protect me,” Sandor said when they were in her chambers.

He walked her there, made sure there was everything in her room she might need, and even waited while she prepared herself for her sleep. There was a huge screen in the corner of the chamber, but Sandor turned around to face the wall anyway. He waited until she was in her bed, checking once again if there was anything she needed, and bid her a goodnight.

But instead of walking out of her chambers, he stayed.

He stood next to her bed, the expression on his face unreadable. He didn’t say a word, eyeing Sansa and not even blinking. And when he spoke, his voice was blank, but shaking.

As if he was still afraid.

“But you are a strong and honourable warrior, and you are way better than Gregor could ever be,” Sansa chirped in a weak voice, her hands trembling. She _knew_ he wanted to hear her talking about the soulmate thing, but suddenly she felt so weak and small. There was no way she could tell him the truth.

“I’m not talking about me or my skills,” Sandor growled with a nervousness in his voice. It was so strange to see him so nervous and afraid. She grew up with him being her mighty knight, she never saw him being _that_ vulnerable. 

  
Sansa always knew Sandor was capable of different sort of emotions. Not only the negative one, as most of the people thought after meeting him for the first time. He was a kind man, he was an honourable man, he was a man who could laugh, he was a man who could be sad, he was a man who cared about people and things he cherished. There was no way all Stark children could get attached to him if he was a _bad_ man.

But still. Honestly, Sansa would never imagine that Sandor Clegane was able to show someone all those emotions he was patiently hiding from everyone. She would never imagine he could be afraid. She didn’t know his voice could shake like that and his hands tremble when he was unsure of something. Or waiting to hear her reply. As if he _hoped_ to hear something particular in her reply, and was afraid of it at the same time.

There were so many different emotions in Sandor Clegane, but Sansa knew she liked all of them.

She broke the eye contact, moving her gaze to her crossed fingers on the top of warm furs.

“I didn’t lie,” she almost whispered these words, her throat becoming dry and her body becoming hot. She had no idea if Sandor had heard her, her voice was so tiny and quiet she barely heard herself.

“Sansa, I’m not talking about your words of me as a warrior,” Sandor repeated with a sigh. He was so stubborn sometimes, but Sansa had learnt how to be stubborn as well.

  
“I’m not talking about my _words_ ,” she grumbled. She was still so afraid to say those words aloud, even if it didn’t have any difficulty with them at the training yard. But at least there was a simpler way to show him she wasn’t lying.

Sansa knew there was no way back after she would do it, but she took off her wristband anyway.

“I didn’t lie,” she repeated in a small voice.

Sandor didn’t reply. He didn’t move either, as if he was frozen on the same spot, but after Sansa pouted and tilted her head to look at him, there were tears on his cheeks.

She never saw Sandor Clegane crying before, but she knew there was nothing wrong with it. She wanted to reach out her hands and embrace him, to calm him down, but her body didn’t listen to any of her commands.

  
Sandor didn’t reply, but suddenly he was on his knees - _so close to her_ , - offering Sansa his left arm. His body was shaking and Sansa hoped he will be alright to ride at the tourney tomorrow. She looked at his arm and knew what he wanted her to do. She carefully untied the leather wristband from his huge arm and took it off.

She never knew she could experience such strong spectre of different emotions, from the distrust to a sheer happiness just from looking at her name, but there she was. And she was crying too.

“All those years I hoped…” Sandor’s voice was hoarse and broken, and he cut himself off in the middle of the sentence, his head sunk on her stomach and his hands embracing her tightly. His broad shoulders were still trembling, and Sansa carefully put her delicate hands on them, soothingly caressing Sandor.

For a second she felt a little sting of a doubt. Was Sandor so happy to realise that _Sansa Stark_ was his real soulmate, or was he happy to realise that _she_ was his real soulmate? But all these questions could wait, Sansa decided, running her fingers through his hair.

  
The hot tears still were running down her cheeks, but Sansa knew they were the _good_ tears.

***

It turned out that Sandor didn’t even have to face Gregor. He was paired with Ser Loras Tyrell, whom he unhorsed quite quickly and gallantly, almost if mocking young knight. And Gregor lost to Ser Barristan, who gave Sansa a knowing stare while passing their stand.

The final joust wasn’t as quick as Sansa expected, as both Sandor and Ser Barristan didn’t want to lose their chances to become the champions of the tourney, but in the end, Sandor managed to unhorse the old knight.

Ser Barristan shook Sandor’s hand and accepted his defeat with dignity. When Sandor was named the winner, he was presented with a heavy pouch full of golden stags and a flower crown.

“There’s no way you will escape the opportunity to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty,” Ser Barristan chuckled, and Sansa held her breath.

She wanted to be crowned by _Sandor_ so much, but the wise side of her whispered it would be too risky to do so before they told at least her parents about the bond they shared. And Sandor wasn’t a stupid man, who would go bald for any sort of thing, so Sansa just nodded to him when he finally stopped in front of their stand. Sandor’s lips flinched in a smile.

“No offence, Lord Stark,” he bowed his head to her father. “Just a simple gratitude.”

Sansa knew that in any different situation Sandor’s actions could lead to a huge mess, maybe even to a deadly feud, but he and her father were almost like two brothers, Sansa knew it. So when her mother was presented a crown, Sansa giggled and hugged her, hearing her father’s sincere laughter.

She took the moment of everyone’s distraction and looked at Sandor. He was staring at her, a warm tenderness in his eyes, and Sansa knew that their trip to King’s Landing went way better than she expected.


	5. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing this chapter and suddenly realised I somehow forgot about the direwolves 🤦  
> Alright, let's pretend they've always been there (for almost a year at the time of the events in King's Landing), and they weren't present before because they stayed in Winterfell. Yay!..
> 
> Also, another change occurred to the number of chapters. There's 6 of them now, as in the end I decided to write a braime one as a separate fanfic (as it will include 2 or 3 chapters in total). So yeah. One more chapter to go.

Sandor knew he had to tell Eddard about his daughter’s name written on his wrist straight away, but something stopped Sandor. King’s Landing wasn’t the perfect place to reveal his secret, bor was the road to Winterfell. Eddard and Catelyn decided it will be better to travel by road, it would be more than a month before they will come home, but still, Sandor was sure that his secret could wait until they were back in the North.

Sandor was glad Eddard didn’t accept his friend’s invitation to stay in the capital longer than it was initially planned. Sandor wasn’t fond of King’s Landing, the place was too noisy and hot. The rest of his household had to think the same, at least Arya and Robb were the ones who expressed their disappointment openly.

he knew that Sansa wanted to go home as soon as possible too. After they revealed the names on their wrists to each other, Sansa started to spent way more time with him. It reminded Sandor of the years of her childhood, when the little lady was running to him at any possible occasion, but now everything was different.

Of course, there wasn’t anything indecent. Sansa was chirping her stories, complaining about their stay at King’s Landing or sharing with him some news from her siblings or what she overheard from her parents. Sandor listened to her chirping, and the warmness in his chest was blossoming like a beautiful flower. As beautiful as Sansa was.

Sandor had no idea when such pathetic rubbish started to appear in his mind, but he didn’t mind.

When Eddard announced they were ready to go, Sansa asked her father if there was a chance she could ride her horse. There was a cart for Catelyn and children available, but Sansa insisted on getting what she wanted. In the end, she was spending almost all the time riding near Sandor. Stranger didn’t like the presence of Sansa’s mare near him, but Sansa stroked his mane and whispered something in his ear. After that Stranger was just snorting, but stopped his attempts to bite or push the mare.

It was nice travelling like this. Sandor was used to road trips in a total silence, usually riding on the distance from the rest of the party. Eddard was the only exception who was always trying to engage him into conversation, and Jory was trying to cheer him from time to time. But now there was Sansa and her chirping, and Sandor didn’t mind.

“It’s nice to see you too getting along again,” Eddard told him one afternoon when they stopped in the inn overnight.

Sandor and Sansa left their horses to the local stables, and she ran to her mother and Arya to talk about something. Sandor was watching her when Eddard came to his side, smiling and giving a light smack on his shoulder.

“Aye,” Sandor replied shortly. There was nothing else he could tell Eddard right now.

“Sansa was always fond of you when she was a child,” Eddard chuckled, watching his daughter as well. “I have no idea what had happened between the two of you, but I can tell you that she’s looking way happier now than she used to be.”

“Maybe she was simply growing up,” Sandor mumbled, hoping Eddard will change the subject. 

“And you are less grumpier than you were for the last couple of years,” Lord Stark laughed, smacking him on the shoulder again. “It’s good to know our little lady is having a good influence on you.”

“I bet she is,” Sandor shrugged. His lips stretched in a tiny smile, though.

  
  


***

  
  


He needed to talk to Sansa too. About this soulmate thing. There was no much talk the night he and Sansa realised they were destined to each other, Sandor was crying like a babe, but he wasn’t ashamed of it. Sansa cried too, but even with her eyes full of tears she still looked like a proper lady, so gentle and so beautiful. Or like the Maiden herself. Sandor hated the gods, but he was sure the Maiden _had_ to look like Sansa.

They didn’t talk about it after that night. First, there was the second day of the tourney, after which Sandor had to sit through the long and boring feast in _his_ honour, and the worst thing was that he was seated at one of the highest places near the King himself. Both Catelyn and Eddard received places next to him, separating him from Robert Baratheon, but it still was enough to hear the crude jokes and all other shit the drunken monarch was telling everyone.

He would feel himself much better sitting next to Sansa and listening to her sweet chirping, but he had to obey the will of the King.

As it turned out, not all the stories drunken Robert told were about whores or _funny_ incidents which happened to him during the last time he went hunting with his brothers. 

“I’m _so_ glad we all are alive and can drink ourselves into oblivion,” he slurred, poking unimpressed Eddard in the ribs. “Imagine, all of us could just be dead if it wasn’t for Jaime.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddard frowned.

“That’s a bi-ig secret,” the King put his finger to his lips, but Sandor was sure at least ten more people who were sitting nearby were able to hear Robert Baratheon. “But I know you won’t tell it to anyone else, Ned.”

He hiccuped and told to Eddard (and everyone who still listening to his drunken blabberings) about the reason Jaime Lannister had killed the mad king. It was quite refreshing to hear that the man Sandor had somehow respected for his reasons wasn’t worth the mocking title people gave him. Eddard didn’t say anything to the King, but Sandor saw that something had changed in his eyes. As if he finally was able to find some sort of peace regarding the issue with the _Kingslayer_.

After the feast, they stayed in King’s Landing for several days, while Eddard was dealing with all the preparations. Sandor could use that time and talk to Sansa, but he decided not to do so in the capital. Every wall had ears here, he knew it very well. He decided to postpone this conversation, the same as he did with the one with Eddard, just to be on the safe side. Sansa didn’t ask any questions, she just accepted their bond immediately, chirping her sweet words and making Sandor feel himself better being in her presence.

When he was a boy, Sandor always hoped that his life will be way easier when his soulmate will appear. It wasn’t, Sandor had to go through different types of shit since Sansa was born, but now, having her next to him and knowing she wasn’t afraid of him, nor disgusted with his face or manners or anything else, Sandor knew he finally was at peace.

Well, _almost_.

He still had to explain to Eddard the whole mess he was dragged into as soon as Sansa’s name appeared on his wrist.

  
  


***

  
  


It was so nice to be back to Winterfell. Home. It was colder here than in King’s Landing, and the place was way smaller than the Red Keep, but Sandor didn’t care. He was glad to be back, and he wasn't the only one who shared this feeling with him. 

"I can't wait to have my first training!" Arya giggled, petting her direwolf who had missed her master for sure. It still was a mystery for Sandor, but, apparently, after watching lady Brienne at the tourney, Catelyn decided it won't hurt if her daughter will learn _some_ sword skills. She made a clear emphasis on the word _some_ while talking to Arya and her husband, but Sandor thought with a smirk that Arya will find her ways to have way more training sessions her mother allowed. 

The direwolves were glad to see their masters back. Little Rickon, who was now talking in long, almost meaningful sentences, was refusing to leave his parents' side. Sandor was met by Jory and the rest of the soldiers, who briefed him on the current things in the keep.

There was work to do, and somehow Sandor found himself quite busy with the things which always were usual for him. And not only him, Eddard and Catelyn found themselves buried in a handful of issues and requests to deal with straight away.

In the end of the first week after their arrival, Sandor realised he didn’t even think of talking to Eddard about his bond with Sansa. He was simply too tired, and the same could be said about Eddard. They met each other during the breakfast, sometimes they had to deal with the same problems at the stables or training yard, but there was no time for both of them to sit down and talk.

But at least Sandor was able to spend some more time with Sansa. She told him they could easily go to the Godswood any time they wanted, and so their evening strolls began. Sansa’s direwolf was always following them, she was quite happy to spend even more time with Sandor who was loved by all huge pets of Stark children.

He and Sansa would sit down near one of the hot springs, while Lady was foolishly running around or lying down curled into a huge ball. Sansa would tell him about her lessons, about the gown she was working on, about everything that was on her mind. To be honest, Sandor would gladly listen to _anything_ she told him, so he never complained of the subjects she was speaking of.

He was telling her about his days too, and not only of them. At some point, Sandor shared with Sansa the full story of how he ended up being lord Rickard’s ward with his wrists covered by leather bands. 

Sansa listened to his story very seriously, biting her lip from time to time.

“You waited for so long,” she said, squeezing his hand. “It makes me feel so nervous.”

“Why?” Sandor frowned, looking at her with an unhidden concern.

“Because I don’t want to disappoint you,” Sansa sighed, and Sandor felt a familiar warmth filling his chest.

“You will never disappoint me,” he promised, caressing her wrist with his thumb. 

Sansa was so naive and sweet, she was chirping so many good things to him, even the ones Sandor never imagined to hear from a lady. As a boy, he feared that Sansa Stark from his wrist will hate him for making her life miserable because of his looks and his rough nature, but _Sansa Stark_ just smiled at him.

She wasn’t a faceless girl who was destined to him by the gods, she was his Sansa, the one who always laughed at his jokes and whose tears he saw so many times. She saw him crying too, and Sandor was sure it somehow straightened the bond between them. _His_ Sansa was so polite, so delicate, so sweet. She was way more he could ever hope for, but she was _his_ nevertheless.

It was so difficult to believe in, but slowly Sandor learnt how to do it.

  
  


***

  
  


Eddard was busy, and when Sandor finally plucked up some courage and time for their conversation, he was summoned to White Harbor. He was Warden of the North, it was his job to be there where his people needed him, so Eddard went there straight away, taking Robb and Arya with him.

He came back almost a month later, but at the same time, some concerning news arrived from the Iron Islands. It was told that Balon Greyjoy was scheming something against the realm, and of course, Eddard had to send his men there to find out what was happening. Theon and Sandor were included in that group, which meant he had to be away from Winterfell for some time.

Sandor didn’t want to go, but it was duty. He thought of talking to Eddard before would leave, but decided to postpone it again. He met Sansa in the Godswood before his departure, however, and gave her a promise to return as soon as he would be able.

She gave him a handkerchief she embroidered herself, and a quick kiss in his cheek. Sandor felt eyes widening in a surprise, but Sansa didn’t allow him to ask her any question and ran away, her direwolf yapping happily by her side.

Sandor was touching his cheek to Pyke and return.

Luckily, there was nothing major, the rumours about another attempt of rebellion were false. But at least Theon got a chance to see his father and sister, who were not so glad to let him go back to Winterfell. 

When their travel party arrived home, Sandor learnt that Eddard was already away. His presence was required at Castle Black. No one in Winterfell had a clear idea of what was happening there, but Catelyn looked kind of worried.

“He told me about some rumours before leaving,” she shared the news with Sandor. “Something about the Others.”

“The Others don’t exist,” Sandor shrugged. “They’re just some creatures people used to scare their children, right?”

“I don’t know,” Catelyn sighed with worry in her eyes.

She wasn’t from the North, but she thought those stories to be real. Or that there was a chance those stories were real. Catelyn Stark was a strong woman who wasn’t easily scared by anything, but this time Sandor saw a true concern in her expression, and it made him uncomfortable.

  
  


***

  
  


Eddard came back in a couple of months. He looked tired, there were new grey threads in his hair, but at least he was smiling.

“Some great changes are awaiting Westeros,” he told Sandor and Catelyn the same day he came back. “But at least we won’t be engaged in another great war.”

“What about the _Others_?” Catelyn asked. She was trying to stay calm, but her long delicate fingers were latched onto a silk handkerchief.

“Well, the bad thing is they are real,” Eddard sighed, scratching his head. “But the good thing is, there’s a way how to deal with them.”

Sandor cocked his eyebrow in a silent question.

“Dragons!” Eddard exclaimed enthusiastically, as he wasn’t Warden of the North but a mere child. “I know it’s hard to believe in it, but there are dragons far away from Westeros, and, luckily, we will manage to use them against the undead.”

Sandor wanted to ask his friend about those bloody dragons and what changes were awaiting Westeros, but Catelyn, glad that nothing terrible was happening with her husband or her family _right now_ , loudly announced that Eddard needed to have some rest.

Sandor took it as a sign he had to retreat, so he walked out of Eddard’s solar, thinking of what would happen to all of them. Those undead people, those dragons, it all sounded like a total absurd, a jape, but they were real. Somehow.

Sandor sighed and took a look at the wristband on his arm. Then again, if there were people in this world who were destined to each other just _because_ , there could always be a room for some dragons or creatures from the children stories.

But at least having a soulmate was way better than dealing with the dragons or fighting the undead. That what Sandor was sure of.

***

There was a feast held to celebrate Sansa’s nameday. She turned three and ten, and there was no young lady happier and more beautiful in Winterfell than her. She wore a beautiful gown she made herself, and her smile was wide and sincere the whole day.

She was turning into a beautiful young lady. Sandor knew that some noblewomen were already married at her age, some of them even managed to give birth to their firstborn (not all of those ladies were able to survive the birthing process, though), but he still considered her a child. Well, maybe not a child, children didn’t have those delicate curves of their bodies and small pert teats. She was turning into a beautiful young _woman_ , and something inside Sandor was proudly reminding him that Sansa was _his_ soulmate every time his eyes would find her at the breakfast or during the day.

Still, they kept their secret from the others. They were still hiding in the Godswood from time to time, spending their free time together. Sansa sang him sweet songs about brave knights and fair maidens, adding each time that he, Sandor Clegane, was way better than any knight.

“And you’re gentler and more beautiful than any fair maiden,” he would add, watching her cheeks turning red.

It was so strange to share this bond, but Sandor liked it. He was a man grown and hardened by the numerous battles, but at those times in the Godswood, he felt he was a young boy full of hopes and dreams. It was such a queer feeling for someone like him, but he told about it to Sansa anyway.

“You feel yourself like this because you know that those dreams and hopes will be real,” she chirped sweetly as usually, leaning into his embrace. She was getting herself more and more comfortable with him. She liked to take his huge palm in hers, lock their fingers and look at them. She always tried to hug him before they would leave the Godswood, and never denied an embrace he could give her any time.

  
It all was so strange, but Sandor didn’t mind that feeling. It made him feel _whole_ , and the parts of his body Sansa’s little hands were touching felt the warmth of her caresses through the whole night.

***

“We need to talk,” he said loudly, closing the wooden door of Eddard’s solar.

“Is it something important?” lord Stark asked, shifting his gaze from the scroll in his hands to Sandor.

“ _Very_ important,” Sandor sighed, suddenly feeling himself so small in front of Eddard. It was a very absurd concept, especially taking into account their height difference, but at that particular moment, Sandor was full of fear and doubts.

Still, they had to have this talk.

Eddard asked him to take a seat, putting the scroll away and looking at Sandor.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “What is the important thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

Sandor shifted on his chair nervously. All the words had suddenly disappeared from his head and his throat became dry. He opened his mouth, but no sound was coming out. Sandor squeezed his eyes and shook his head, trying to calm himself down.

Eddard frowned, and, unfortunately for Sandor, there was no way back for him now. He raised his arm, putting it on the top of the table, and simply took the wristband off.

“Here,” he grumbled, averting his gaze from his friend.

Eddard Stark didn’t reply, and Sandor felt a cold shiver running down his spine. What if Eddard was disgusted? What if he felt betrayed by his old friend he considered almost a brother? What if he won’t say anything and just will throw Sandor out of Winterfell?

Sandor gulped and looked at Eddard out of the corner of his eyes, and froze.

Eddard was smiling. And there was no disgust in his eyes, nor there was anger or hatred.

“So _that’s_ what you wanted to talk about,” he chuckled, crossing his arms in front of him. “Good. I was already getting a little bit afraid you’d never come to discuss the bond between you and Sansa with me, Sandor.”

“ _What_ ?” Sandor blinked, his eyes widening. “Do you mean you _knew_?”

“Kind of,” Eddard shrugged, but his smile was still there.

“Since when”? Sandor asked in a small voice. Did it mean that his attempts to keep his secret were futile after all?

“Since the tourney,” Eddard explained. “Robert shared with me the news he heard from his son. Joffrey made a big fuss about the fact his possible bride was already bonded with someone else.”

“Oh,” Sandor clicked his tongue. He didn’t like prince Joffrey as soon as he saw him, so it was quite easy for him to imagine that little shit going whiny about anything. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Eddard sighed. “I mean, there was a possibility that Joffrey made things up. After all, he never saw your or Sansa’s wrists, so I decided to wait and watch the two of you meanwhile.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sandor replied, remembering Eddard’s comments about him and Sansa from their journey.

“But what I saw had confirmed Joffrey’s complain and my suspicions,” Eddard chuckled. “Anyway, I’m glad you came to talk to me about you and Sansa. After all, we need to discuss some things regarding your future. And your past.”

“I know,” Sandor nodded, taking a deep breath. “I bet you want to know why I never told anyone about the name on my wrist?”

“Exactly,” Eddard nodded. “I suppose you had your reasons to hide it from all of us, but it’s kind of interesting to learn about them.”

“I didn’t hide it from _all_ of you,” Sandor shook his head. “Your father and Brandon knew about the name.”

“Did they?” Eddard cocked his eyebrow in a surprise. “I had no idea.”

“The whole reason I ended up being your father’s ward was the name,” Sandor snorted. “As soon as my father learnt that my destined person is a _Stark_ , he sent the fastest raven we had to lord Rickard. We came to Winterfell and your father offered me to stay and wait until my soulmate will be born.”

“But that could take _ages_ ,” Eddard scowled. 

“I know,” Sandor replied with a sigh. “Your father came up with an idea to name Brandon’s firstborn daughter _Sansa_ , so I could get myself a soulmate and fulfil the wish of the gods.”

“But Brandon had died. Why you didn’t tell me about the agreement and didn’t ask the same?”

“I don’t know,” Sandor shook his head. “I always lived with a fear that the poor girl will hate me for the life I was going to give her as her soulmate. Maybe that was one of the reasons I didn’t come to you. Maybe I just didn’t want to break my word I gave to your father to keep it just between three of us. Four, if you count my father.”

Eddard clicked his tongue.

“Interesting,” he chuckled, drumming on the table with his fingers. “But you know, that’s even for the best.”

“Why so?” Sandor knew he looked confused.

“I named my daughter Sansa without any particular intention,” Eddard explained. “Which means the two of you are _truly_ destined to each other. If the gods were able to make you find each other without any interference from someone else.”

“Oh,” Sandor held his breath for a second. “I see.”

Eddard nodded, moving his gaze to Sandor’s arm.

“The letters look exactly like Sansa’s handwriting,” he noted with a smile. “So small and delicate, just like Sansa herself.”

“Aye,” Sandor agreed, feeling his lips stretching into a warm smile.

“I have one thing to ask you for, Sandor,” Eddard frowned, still looking at his wrist. “Take care of Sansa. Please.”

“I will,” Sandor said, feeling a tight knot of nervousness in his stomach. “I swear you, Eddard, I will.”

“Good,” his friend nodded with relief in his voice. “So, when should I start organising the wedding?”

“Not now,” Sandor shook his head. “I know that I’m getting myself a highborn bride, but I don’t want to wed her right now. I don’t want to hurt her, you know. I think both of us will agree to wait, let’s say at least for two years or something.”

“Right,” Eddard nodded, a sudden worry appearing in his eyes. “But please, Sandor, remember what I’ve told you about Sansa. She’s so delicate and fragile. So sweet. Don’t make her feel unwanted or betrayed.”

“I think you forgot I’m not Brandon,” Sandor snorted, but his face turned into a serious one in a blink of an eye. “Don’t worry about it, Eddard. And remember, that I promised to keep your daughter safe and take care of her.”

“Good,” Eddard Stark nodded with a smile. “I hope you will be happy, Sandor.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Sandor laughed.

It was just a joke, but he knew that Eddard was right.

He will be happy. And he would do anything possible to share his happiness with Sansa. 

After all, that’s what soulmates were for, right?


	6. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: it won't be a monster, just a little fanfic.  
> Definitely-not-a-monster: *is 20+k words*  
> Me: :o

It was so strange to be _betrothed_. And not just to someone, but to _Sandor_. Sansa thought about it and giggled, rolling on her back and staring at the wooden ceiling. 

Her father announced her nameday. She was four and ten now, everyone was calling her a grown woman, and Sansa knew it was the perfect age for getting married. Many noble ladies of her age were already wedded to their husbands, but her father said that nothing was decided regarding her marriage yet.

Her family knew about her and Sandor’s bond for more than a year now, and, to Sansa’s great relief, everyone was supporting them. Sansa knew there was no way someone could think Sandor not worthy enough to become her husband, but there was a little fear living in her at the beginning.

But everything was good. No, even perfect, and Sansa knew that things in real life couldn’t go so smoothly. She was afraid someone could come and take her happiness away, but when she told about it to Sandor he gently stroke her hair and promised to fight anyone who could dare to break her peace. And Sandor never broke his promises, so Sansa relaxed and decided to let things go as they should.

Being betrothed to Sandor made her feel older. Almost a proper grown lady. It even affected her posture and the way Sansa started to dress. She wanted to look more mature, and she was growing out of her dresses anyway, so she was spending her lessons with septa on making new gowns and skirts for herself. She made sure they looked mature enough, though Sandor didn’t look really happy when he saw her new gown with a low cleavage for the first time. He grumbled something unrecognisable and said that it would be better if Sansa covered herself with a shawl. 

He was averting his gaze all day long, but something inside told Sansa he liked her dress. And the blush on his cheekbone confirmed it.

  
  


***

  
  


Sansa tried to persuade her father to make her wedding to happen as soon as possible.

“It wasn’t me who decided to wait,” he smiled, patting her shoulder. “Sandor asked to wait until you will become older. A wise decision from his side, if you had asked me.”

Sansa had no idea what sort of wisdom it was. Sandor was her soulmate, right? And there was a mutual affection between them, it had to be. Sansa liked him so much since she was a child, she always wanted to be married to him. And now she was a grown woman, who flowered more than two years ago. She was ready for a marriage, and she knew that she started to like Sandor differently than in her childhood.

And he was sharing the same feelings towards her, right?

But what if he didn’t like her _enough_ to want that marriage.

Of course it was a total rubbish of a thought. But it was bothering her from time to time, and at some time Sandor just asked her directly what was there on her mind that made her look so sad.

“It’s about our wedding,” Sansa blurted, ashamed of her feelings.

“What about it?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow, looking at her with unhidden concern.

He was always concerned about her wellbeing and her thoughts and wanted to make sure she feels comfortable and safe. It was so sweet, and Sansa didn’t want him to worry too much about strange thoughts in her head.

“I was just afraid that no one tells me when the wedding will happen,” Sansa pouted, feeling so foolish. “Father says you don’t want to have it now, and I’ve just thought…”

She cut herself in the middle of her sentence, her face red from embarrassment.

“You thought I don’t want you anymore?” Sandor sighed, putting his palms on her shoulders and lowering his head to hers.

“Yes,” Sansa whispered. “It was a s-stupid thought, I know, I’m so sorry I doubted you or…”

“Everything is fine, Sansa,” he said. His hoarse and raspy voice sounded so soft when she talked to her or tried to calm her down. “Sometimes people are starting doubting themselves or the ones around, it happens. You can’t even imagine how many times I looked in the mirror and was afraid that everything in my life is a lie and nobody will want me. Especially a beautiful young lady like you.”

“But I want to become your wife!” Sansa gasped. “Sandor, I’ve told you so many times that I truly am happy that _you_ are my soulmate and no one else. And that it will be _you_ who will put his cloak on my shoulders. And that it’s _you_ with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. After all, we are destined for each other. It’s just the wedding…”

“Sansa,” Sandor said, and she looked him in the eyes. His expression still was soft, but there was a shadow of seriousness and concern in his stare.

“What?” she chirped in a small voice.

“I don’t want to postpone our wedding because I don’t like you or something.”

“You truly l-like me?” she bit her tongue, knowing she is acting too awkward.

“Of course,” Sandor replied in a calm tone, but Sansa noted that his good ear turned red, as if he was embarrassed as well. “But you’re still young. You might start to look like a grown woman, and wear the gowns intended for grown women, but you’re young. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me, I know,” she smiled at him reassuringly, but Sandor’s eyes were more serious now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated stubbornly. “And I don’t want even to imagine the things which can happen to women when they’re giving birth to their children.”

He was almost whispering by the end of his sentence, and Sansa felt a wave of sadness covering her body and mind. She knew that Sandor’s mother didn’t make it through and passed away while giving birth to his little sister. She raised her hand and put it on Sandor’s palm, caressing it gently.

“I understand, Sandor,” she whispered, trying to give him the biggest and most sincere smile. “I’ll wait.”

He nodded, and Sansa raised on her toes to brush away his tear. His smile was weak, but so tender and honest, and Sansa gave herself a word she will never leave him to be on his own.

And that she liked him truly too.

  
  


***

  
  


Maybe she had to wait to get married to Sandor, but at least she was able to see her perfect wedding in her dreams. There, she was always wearing the prettiest gowns she ever saw, and Sandor was waiting for her in front of the heart tree, his posture proud and his cloak carefully sewn and embroidered by Sansa.

They were saying their vows, and Sandor’s lips on hers were as soft and light as a feather. When he was pledging his promises and his _love_ to her, Sansa felt herself the happiest woman in the whole Westeros. Even if it was just in her dreams.

There never was the feast in her dreams, but after the kiss, she was always finding herself on the huge featherbed in Sandor’s arms. He was kissing her so tenderly and lovingly that Sansa felt hot tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She was embracing him and kissing him back, his lips, his cheeks, his nose. 

She was so happy in those dreams and didn’t even mind when Sandor was untying the delicate laces of her gown, taking it off and caressing her body which was covered just by a thin shift. Sansa knew it was what had to happen between two spouses, so she allowed him to do anything he wanted. He was kissing her and touching her everywhere, and there was a pleasant warmth running in her veins.

Sansa would wake up in the middle of the night, the smile from her dream still on her face, and that strange warmth still enveloping her body. It was a nice feeling, but somehow Sansa knew that something was missing. Or, to be more precise, someone.

If she would be in Sandor’s arms, the feeling would be much better, she was quite sure about it.

  
  


***

  
  


When she turned five and ten, she made the most scandalous thing ever. After her nameday feast, she asked Sandor to walk with her to the Godswood. It was quite a busy afternoon for her, and Sansa wanted to spend some time in the most peaceful place in Winterfell.

Of course, she wanted to spend that time with Sandor.

They sat under the heart tree, their fingers locked and Sansa’s head resting on his shoulder. For the past moons, the nature of their meetings in the Godswood had somehow changed. Of course, they were telling each other stories and news, Sansa liked to listen to Sandor’s low, hoarse voice. But apart from these short conversations, they started to spend more time just sitting there in total silence.

Sansa knew no one would disturb them in the Godswood, so she was comfortable enough to show her affection to Sandor. It was quite different in front of the others, even after their betrothal was announced, she was feeling herself kind of awkward even touching Sandor’s hand. When he would put his large palm on her shoulder, Sansa’s cheeks were on fire instantly. And thinking of hugging, of their embraces, was making her weak and shy. She had no idea how she would kiss him in front of the others during their wedding ceremony and not faint.

But here, in the Godswood, everything was different. Quite often Sansa was the one to initiate their embraces, and Sandor didn’t mind. She enjoyed sitting under the tree in his arms, her head on his shoulder or broad chest. To be honest, Sansa liked the second option more, she was able to hear Sandor’s strong heartbeat like that and she liked it.

There was a pleasant warmth appearing in her chest every time she was able to feel Sandor so close to her. Sometimes she was touching his strong arms or neck with her delicate fingers, and the warmth was moving lower. It was quite a strange feeling, but it was always followed by some sort of happiness. Sansa decided she liked it as much as she liked sitting in the Godswood with Sandor.

Even now she was able to feel that warmth, and they weren’t even properly hugging. Sansa was sitting next to him, their knees touching. Sandor’s thumb was caressing the backside of her palm from time to time, sending queer shiver to her spine. It was nice, so very nice, but Sansa had to shift on her place, as the feeling made her somehow uncomfortable to sit in her position.

She looked at Sandor’s wrist and smiled. Both of them were wearing their wristbands, but after their betrothal was announced, Sansa decided it was time for them to have something matching. She made a wristband for herself from a grey silk and embroidered it with dogs, wolves, and snowflakes. She made a wristband for Sandor too, made from a fine leather, but it had the same embroidery pattern as hers one. it suited Sandor very well, and it also was a proof that there was a bond between them.

When Sandor wore it for the first time, Sansa was so proud of herself.

She squeezed his fingers and smiled to her thoughts.

“What is it, Sansa?” Sandor asked in a calm, a little bit sleepy voice. She tilted her head and looked at him, overtaken by the softest expression on his face she ever saw.

Maybe Sandor had scars someone could consider horrifying and ugly, but Sansa knew he was the most handsome man she met in her life. Especially with that calm expression and a tender smile on his lips. 

It was too much, and the heat in her chest became a fire. Sansa knew it would be the most scandalous thing she ever did in her life, but she ascended a little and placed a kiss on the burnt corner of his lips.

She always heard that proper ladies had to close their eyes while receiving a kiss from their husbands or intendeds, but she kept staring. She was already breaking the rules, so there was no reason for her to be proper and obedient, right?

Besides, if she closed her eyes she wouldn’t be able to see the ineffable spectre of emotions in Sandor’s eyes. He looked surprised and scared at the same time, but then his eyes softened again, and a sheer happiness appeared in his stare. His lips twitched as if he wanted to open his mouth, so Sansa broke her clumsy little kiss and looked at him, waiting for Sandor to say something.

But he was quiet. He stared at her with the expression she never saw on his face. He looked at her as if he saw the Maiden herself, and there was some wetness in the corner of his eyes. Some instincts told Sansa to lean forward and kiss away these tears, but she just blushed and hid her face in the crook of his neck. 

She wasn’t ashamed, but her body was on fire and Sansa wanted too much to continue kissing Sandor and running away at the same time. Or, to be more precise, flying away. Her body was so light she could spread her arms and fly.

“Sansa,” Sandor groaned, nuzzling her hair.

He was a warrior, the strongest man Sansa ever saw, but she was able to hear some sort of shyness in his voice, and she liked it.

***

Sandor didn’t like any gods, but he agreed that they would have two short weddings one after another. One in the Godswood, where they could pledge their vows, and the second one in the small sept of Winterfell. It was the perfect way to say their thanks to the Gods who made them destined to each other.

She was waiting for that day so long, but somehow as sooner the day came, the more nervous Sansa was feeling herself. She sewed the most beautiful gown for herself, and with the help of her mother made two cloaks for both her and Sandor. Her mother said they were perfect, but Sansa was not so sure about it. What if Sandor won’t like his cloak? Or her gown? Or the wedding itself?

She was getting more and more nervous, skipping her breakfasts and hiding in her room. Her father and mother were trying their best to cheer her up, and her siblings did the same. Even little Rickon, who was in that age when boys liked to play battles and knights more than anything, was trying to convince Sansa that her wedding will be great. Even better than the sack of King’s Landing where their father fought.

Sandor was there for her too, but Sansa saw that he was nervous himself. She overheard him telling her father that he was so afraid to mess everything up, and smiled softly to herself. There was no way Sandor could do anything wrong, but the fact he was so worried about their wedding was so sweet. Sansa knew from the stories of other women that their husbands didn’t care about their weddings apart from the feast and bedding, and Sansa was so glad she wasn’t marrying any of those men but _Sandor_.

But her nervousness was futile, as well as was Sandor’s fear. Their wedding was the most perfect ceremony Sansa ever witnessed, and Sansa was so proud of it. After all, she took a part in preparations, so yes, she had her reason to be proud.

They said their vows to the Old and the Seven, their fingers locked, their wristbands taken off. There was sheer tenderness in Sandor’s eyes, and Sansa was proud that it was her who was able to make him feel like this too. When Sandor kissed her, she closed her eyes and smiled. It wasn’t as embarrassing as she was imagining herself years ago, his lips were soft and gentle, and Sansa thought she wanted their kiss to last way longer, but it could wait.

The feast was beyond all praise, her father kept his word and made sure his firstborn daughter’s wedding would match the rich feasts the King held at King’s Landing. It was even better than the one she attended after the tourney in the capital, the food was nicer, the songs were more cheerful and happier, and she was feeling only a joy. No handsome prince was sitting by her side, but Sansa didn’t need him anyway. 

  
Sandor was there. Her soulmate. Her husband. He was feeling himself a little bit awkward being the centre of the attention, but Sansa found his hand under the table and squeezed it reassuringly. She knew he was nervous, but as he was always by her side to help her, she wanted to play the same role in his life. She was his _wife_ after all. The one, who was destined for him even before she was born. The one, who loved him, and whom he loved back.

It had to be _love_ , Sansa was sure. It wasn’t a childish affection, it wasn’t a mere sympathy. It wasn’t a duty, the thing Sansa feared so much in her childhood. She wanted to be with Sandor and spend the rest of her life by his side. Feel his hand in hers. Watch him smiling, being serious, snorting at some japes, crying - she just wanted to be next to him and share with him all those emotions.

It had to be love, Sansa thought later, when they retreated in their chamber. Sandor barred the wooden door and kissed her. He pressed his lips to hers one and closed his eyes. Sansa did the same, feeling his hands running down her back. They were trembling, and Sandor’s lips were trembling too. He opened his mouth and shyly touched her lips with his tongue. It was so strange, but Sansa had no idea what was happening behind the closed doors in the room two married people shared. Her septa had never laid with a man, so her stories about pain and duty didn’t look like a proper explanation. Her mother would know, but Sansa was so embarrassed to ask her something like that, hoping she will manage.

So she opened her mouth too, mimicking Sandor’s movements, and when his tongue touched hers, she felt struck by an unnamed feeling. It looked like the heat she had encountered before, but way stronger and powerful. Her knees became weak and she wasn’t able to suppress a tiny sound coming from the back of her throat.

Sansa moaned, and Sandor broke their kiss straight away, staring at her in disbelief.

“Sansa,” he groaned and dragged her to their bed.

He was so gentle, Sansa never thought men could be like that while sharing the bed with their wives. She heard a handful of stories about pain, blood, and the rest of awful things. But with Sandor none of them were real. He was a little bit clumsy, sometimes shy, and asked her to tell him straight away if there was something she liked or not. Sansa agreed, not sure if she will be able to say _anything_ in this situation, but decided to trust her husband.

It was the best decision she ever made in her life. Sandor was so gentle, his caresses and kisses felt so soft as if she was caressed by the lightest feather. He told her once that his hands were made for killing or working, but it was a lie. They were made to touch her, Sansa was sure of it. And his mouth wasn’t made for mean jokes or strong wine, it was made to kiss her and her body _everywhere_. Sansa had no idea men could be so happy kissing the toes or bellybuttons of their lovers, but Sandor _was_ happy. The warm feeling was making her shiver and moan, her woman’s place was wet and aching, but when Sandor saw it he was speechless. Sansa didn’t know if it was right or wrong, she even wanted to ask Sandor if everything was fine, but he shook his head, carefully touching her thighs. 

“Sing for me, Sansa,” he said in a low throaty voice and put his mouth on her _down there_.

And Sansa sang. Oh, she _sang_ so loud and in a voice full of pleasure. It was so strange, it was so wrong, it was so perfect she felt herself flying. Like a little bird Sandor was comparing her to when she was younger.

The heat in her body exploded, and Sansa cried her husband’s name. She was able to hear her pulse beating in her head, and her left wrist was warm, even hot. Sandor took her arm and pressed her lips to the letters there, looking Sansa in the eyes.

“I love you,” he said in a broken voice. “Gods, Sansa, you don’t know how much, I just, all those years I waited for you, I love you...”

He was shivering and crying again, and Sansa took him in her arms, feeling a lump in her throat. She whispered the words of love and calmed him down with gentle caresses. 

She was so happy Sandor was her husband. She was ready for anything the gods had destined for them, as long as she will Sandor by her side. She kissed his temple, and when he raised his head, she smiled.

“I am yours, Sandor,” she said, taking his left hand and running her fingers over her name.

It was there and it was real. The same as Sandor’s name was on her wrist. The same as Sandor was real in front of her, his naked body pressed into hers and his fingers tangled into her long locks.

All these things were real, and when he finally claimed her as his wife, Sansa pressed her open palm to the left side of his chest. She felt a little bit of pain, but it drowned in all those emotions she felt right now. Her palm looked so small on his broad chest, but it looked nice. It looked right, and Sansa wished she could leave the print of her hand on his chest, so she would always be there with him.

The same way the Gods had written her name on his wrist, and years later gave her his one.

Sandor kissed her, and Sansa knew he was as happy as she was. No, _they_ were happy.

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, latching onto his trembling shoulders and closing her eyes, finally finding another one pleasurable relief.

Oh yes.

  
It _was_ love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay :')

**Author's Note:**

> so, ahem, i definitely took some liberties with the canon and soulmate universe...  
> what do you think? :')


End file.
